


Of Fate and Folly

by Mystic_Words



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Love Triangles, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-12-01 10:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11484900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystic_Words/pseuds/Mystic_Words
Summary: To him, she is a thorn in his side, another casualty in a poor mistake, a distraction in his effort to correct his failure. Yet she is inquisitive, caring, and everything he would have wanted in another life.To him, she is enrapturing in her beauty, she is fair and just in her leadership, and she is resilient in the face of danger. Yet there is a part of her that he just can’t seem to capture.She is terrified of failing the people she loves and the world she lives for.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> After looking over this piece for a year, and it is still a work in progress, I have decided to throw caution to the wind. I will update this story regularly as most of this is already written. Finally I have gotten to post something to this site that I have been silently lurking around for the past few years.

Failure reeked like burning, decaying flesh. It stank of the ashes of the souls that women cried for in the village, drowned out by the howling winds of the mountain snow.  
  
Failure glowed a bright green that enveloped the world in a thunderous burst before concentrating into a pillar of light where a great temple once stood. It also pulsed in a smaller form: the palm of a dying woman’s hand.  
  
The questions surrounding the whereabouts of his orb were both answered and unanswered, each piece of the puzzle creating more possibilities. For all he knew, the key to ending this disastrous mistake that threatened to swallow the very world he was trying to evolve fell into the hand he was channeling all his energy into. This was possibly the last remains of his orb and if he had to drag her arm along with him, then so be it.  
  
The body it was attached to needed to be alive for that to happen first.  
  
He wished he had been there to see it in person. Not for the explosion, no, but the moment the guards watched this young woman crawl out of the Fade in one piece, body and spirit. Even for a human with exceptional ties to the Fade, and he had no idea if she possessed this skill, this feat would not be possible without the power that not even he yet possessed.  
  
Saving this prisoner was not in the plans, but with the hole in the sky and the shrill commands of the Seeker echoing throughout the pointed ceilings, the elf had no choice but to use what skills he could to bring her back to health.  
  
Solas only hoped it was worth it.  


\---

  
Familiarity, that was the feeling. It was the nagging sensation Cullen had felt when first met the one who would become the Herald of Andraste, despite never personally meeting someone from her noble household or home of Ostwick. Or at least he thought.  
After all, no one had ever seen the physical embodiment of the Maker's will before.  
  
Could it have been in memory of letters sent to the Circle in Kirkwall from the one in Ostwick including the names of Templars, possible siblings or cousins of Seeker Cassandra's prisoner? Perhaps, but the feeling went deeper than family name when he finally saw her closely in their first “official” meeting. He did not consider his viewing of her painfully unconscious in her holding cell to be an accurate portrayal.  
  
While he wasn't voicing his strong opinion on seeking out the Templars for aid, Cullen was studying her, seeking answers to questions he could not even begin to form. "Why would someone from the Chantry help a declared heretic?" she had asked, her troubled voice laced with an accent that Cullen remembered well from his time in Kirkwall. In the dim lighting the candles provided, it was not difficult to notice how she possessed some other characteristics of those who lived on coasts of the Free Marches.  
  
First off, there were her eyes of a nondescript color that did not seem to sparkle. ‘Really, were they brown? Green? Both?’ It never made sense to Cullen why the farmers from back home near Honnleath all seemed to have the distinctive twinkle that the nobility lacked. As far as Cullen understood, it should have been the opposite.  
  
Even the Champion of Kirkwall only seemed to have a glimmer at some points, and that was only when he was describing something downright disgusting.  
  
"...I won't leave this all to the Herald." Cassandra's statement seemed to be the end to the discussion, snapping Cullen back to attention. The Seeker pulled the spymaster to the side for a private conversation. Only then did he realize that he had been staring at the woman opposite him as she studied the map laid out on the table. When she lifted a delicate finger to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, the commander finally noticed that the locks deceptively matched the color of fire in the chantry lighting. So what if she had warm chestnut locks that framing her welcoming face? So what if the exasperated sigh she let out while she ran her fingers through her bangs drew his breath away? Why couldn’t he regain his focus on addressing the chantry sisters of Val Royeaux? But the more he looked at her, as the ambassador asked her personal questions about her family life, the more he noticed that she was exceptionally different. There were her cheekbones, sculpted so well that Empress Celene would be jealous, a perfect little nose, both complimented smooth, full lips that tugged playfully at the sides of her mouth the first time he saw her crack a of a smile in the tense room. A short but light laugh at Josephine’s quick-witted humor filled the make-shift war room.  
  
Her gaze turned upward to lock with his, and a jolt of both warmth and panic shot throughout his entire body. Seconds felt like hours as Cullen felt overheated in his armor, as if he was roasting in the direct flames of a high dragon. Those were not dull eyes that met his; they were full of warmth, mirth, and a bit of mystery that begged him to look deeper. The ex-Templar quickly shifted his gaze to the floor and swallowed a shaky breath, finally understanding the depth of the familiar feeling caused by Lady Evelyn Trevelyan. It wasn’t familiarity at all. Cullen was simply attracted to her.  
  
_‘Maker’s balls.’_  
  


\---

  
She believed she truly wasn’t gifted, but Bann Trevelyan would claim his dearest daughter was talented beyond belief to whomever would listen. It was true that Evelyn learned how to read faster than any of her older siblings had, a skill she translated into hours spent hunched over the crinkled pages of her family’s library. Of the Trevelyan children, Evelyn was the only one to earn the love of the rowdiest horse in the stables and master the lute, though the latter pursuit was exchanged in time for politics and dancing lessons all before her twelfth year. The youngest Trevelyan was shaping up to be just as successful as her older siblings, if not more. Perfection was key in the Trevelyan household if they were ever to get their Orlesian friends to stop calling them “quaint”.

Archery was one of the last tasks a child of Free Marcher nobility needed to learn. “It helps with posture and patience, child.” Posture was fine for a young girl who was already adept at charming party guests, though patience was not. It seemed that archery finally proved to be the one skill that would not come quickly to Evelyn. She spent hours in the training yard desperately attempting to nock an arrow and keep it there for more than two seconds.  
  
When Evelyn finally managed to let one loose, the arrow was on fire.  
  
Evelyn’s trainer raced towards their home in a panic, calling for someone to send away for the Templars. Bann Trevelyan imagined a promising match for their youngest daughter. Lady Trevelyan imagined an intellectual and caring sister to preserve and extend their family’s position in the Chantry.  
  
But the Maker was cruel and had other plans for Evelyn.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a disclaimer, I own no part of Dragon Age or the characters featured in this story. Now let's catch us up to speed on the story.

Little by little, they grew.

Every day more and more entered the village from different areas. Different areas also meant they came with their own skills, with warriors, healers, and crafters amongst the new additions. Haven was beginning to become a real center rather than a snowy asylum.

Every person who stepped past the front gates had asked to see her.

When she was there, Evelyn took on the role of public figure. After receiving coaching from the graceful Josephine, the Herald was able to wear the title given to her. This did not mean that she knew what to expect as this figurehead for a religion, nor did she truly believe she deserved it.

Publicly, she was the symbol of hope and bravery. Privately, in the cold silence of her own cabin, she was a doubter, frightened and alone.

There were certain members in the forming group that reached out to her, or she reached out to them when they failed to show interest. Josephine and Leliana were more than welcoming to her, though the latter advisor could be cold and terrifying at times. Cassandra possessed less poise than the Nightingale but matched her in unfriendly encounters. Learning her story was like trying to pull apart sticky pages from an old tome. Cullen was more likely to talk about his troops and recite facts about Templars at face-value than let much of himself spill out. Varric seemed to be the only one who welcomed her conversation at times, spending most of their time in the Hinterlands describing the book ideas he scrapped in the past.

Then during the nights by the light of the fire when everyone else slept, Evelyn had the chance to learn of the adventures Solas had when he wasn’t awake. Every night he would tell her about a new ruin, a new spirit he encountered, simply because she asked.

They found more members to join them in their cause. Blackwall, proud and honorable, pledged his sword to her when they had found him. The Iron Bull and his Chargers sought her out, offering a band of fighters and information. Others came with their own resources as well. Sera, although possibly psychotic, connected the Inquisition to a network of troublemakers to use at her discretion. Vivienne came with power, both in her magic and with her position in the Orlesian court. Dorian…Well Dorian brought what he considered to be wit, charm, and friendship. Evelyn recognized his actual assistance came in the form of Redcliffe’s mages.

“You’re welcome,” he had said with a bow, arms wide open.

Evelyn crossed her arms, cocking her hip to the side. “You know, it was kind of a group effort on this one.”

“But I did most of the work.”

“Fair enough.”

Dorian leaned against one of the wooden poles at the gate. “Quite a site, isn’t it?”

Evelyn looked at the view in front of her: soldiers practicing by the tents, a group of mages circled by the stables, the frozen lake stretching out to meet the snowy valleys of the mountains. “It’s beautiful.”

The Tevinter mage next to her snorted in disgust. “Beautiful? I was talking about that mass of a Qunari you have over there. How can he stand there without a shirt in this freezing cold weather? It would save us from looking at all that…bulging.”

“Can’t you all just get along?” Evelyn sighed. Now that was another pair of companions that would insufferably argue out on the field. It was already bad enough that Cassandra constantly huffed at Varric, Solas was hostile towards Sera, and Vivienne criticized everyone in her close group, though Blackwall received the most of it.

Dorian flashed her a mischievous smirk. “I could, but that would be too easy.” 

“Sometimes I can’t tell if I’m the Herald of Andraste or a nanny.” Dorian barked a laugh at her comment, possibly the first time someone actually enjoyed themselves at the small village. Little by little, Haven started to change into something she wanted to call “home.”

\---

As Herald of Andraste, she was everything but what he anticipated. While he expected a human to bask in the glory that accompanied the title, all she expressed was humility. Other mages attacked wildly in a panic, but Evelyn possessed skill and strategy. Many members of the Inquisition would not take time to care for an apostate, except for the Herald.

She listened with intent. She asked questions out of curiosity. She promised to keep him safe from those who would want an unknown apostate locked away.

And she had called _him_ surprising.

She did not gain his interest in full until the day she recited the blessing of Falon’Din to a grieving widower. “I am surprised the Herald of Andraste addresses the wills of Elven deities.” Together they stood on the docks of the newly emancipated Redcliffe—the second liberation in the last decade if Solas had a grasp of modern Fereldan history. Waves gently lapped against the port, bathed in the pink light from the sunset.

“I suppose I just always try to be respectful of other cultures and beliefs.” The two were left alone when Blackwall and Sera decided to get a head start at the tavern. “There was-” she paused, taking in a deep breath. “There was a girl who came to the Circle at very young age a few years ago, a Dalish girl. She told me that one night she wandered off into the woods, chasing a halla. Templars found her before she found her way back to her clan. I took to protecting her as soon as she came in. She wouldn’t talk to anyone, even me, for the longest time.” A smile tugged at her lips. “So I raided the library for books on Dalish culture, and that got her to open up to me.”

“Did she teach you any of her language?” She shook her head, her expression turning somber. “What happened to her?”

Evelyn had been looking straight ahead at the water, but turned to address him with her grim answer. “We were separated when the Circle rebelled. I promised to take care of her, but…I lost her. I haven’t seen her since.” With a heavy sigh, Evelyn turned her gaze back to the water. “I was hoping to find her here, but-” Her voice cracked in the last word, and Solas thought she was on the verge of tears.

“It is not your fault.” Both jumped when Solas’ hand touched her shoulder, as if the elf did not know what his limb had been doing. It was the first time he had touched her since the cells below Haven. She smiled sadly at him when he withdrew his hand. The urge to comfort her vanished as quickly as it appeared. Evelyn looked back towards the tavern and beckoned Solas to walk with her.

“Come on, I owe you a drink for saving me from that bear before.”

\---

It was not until the third time the Herald stopped by to chat that he realized he never once asked about _her._ Of course he asked of the business she attended to, how the last trip out from Haven had been, or other details of her reports. When Evelyn visited him, only her first questions were about the soldiers or news about the Templars before she delved into more personal matters. “Trust building” as he recalled from his days as a recruit many years ago.

“I’ll admit, I’m a bit curious,” she had answered when he wondered why she asked so many questions about his life before the Inquisition. “Even though I lived half my life with Templars we never actually _lived_ with the Templars. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense.” She beamed at him and Cullen’s hand instinctually went to rub at his neck. “So, you were in Ostwick’s Circle, correct? I’ve heard Ostwick was a bit more…Lenient.” A slight twist of his rugged features indicated that was not his ideal choice of words.

“It actually was, at least for me. I spent a lot of time as an apprentice at home with my family, though I was…Luckier than many others there.” She led them down to the edge of the training ground that overlooked the frozen lake.

Cullen would have asked why, but he remembered. _‘Trevelyan. Noble.’_ It had been like that at Ferelden’s tower. Those who had noble families in Ferelden were sometimes permitted visitors, or children of parents that donated great sums of gold to the Chantry were spared harsh punishments. Meredith ensured that never happened in Kirkwall.

“May I ask you something, Herald?” She looked to him and nodded. “I used to be a Templar, and not one that was always good to mages, but you…You’re very open with me. Why?”

“Well,” she started, looking as if she was thinking carefully about the question. “I didn’t end up in Ostwick’s circle until late in my childhood. I didn’t know I was a mage until I was about fourteen. I was also a bit different than the others.” Cullen raised an eyebrow at her, looking for clarification. “I was noble born and in a house that had a lot of connections to the Chantry. It was rare that a Templar raised their hand against me, and when they threatened to hurt others in the Circle, I pulled my weight around to protect them. When the uprising happened, I was upset with a lot of what was happening and a lot of Templars responsible for the chaos.” Evelyn crouched down to pull at the elfroot that was poking up through the snowy shoreline of the lake. “I was on the run in the woods for months, and it gave me time to think. There are good and bad people in the world of all kinds. I need to make sure that I’m judging based on character, not on affiliations.”

Cullen looked down at his boots, as if ashamed of her answer. “I commanded others in Kirkwall. I’ve told Templars to do,” he sighed heavily, “horrible things.”

Evelyn hesitantly placed her hand on his shoulder to comfort, but the action only made him tense. He didn’t deserve forgiveness and yet all he wanted was to remove the cloth and metal separating their skin to remove the barriers between the comfort she was giving him. When she pulled away her hand, Cullen sent her an apologetic look. “I’ve heard the stories from Kirkwall. You followed a mad woman. Now, you’re following your own judgement, and I know it’s the right one. I’ve been watching the way you lead your-our-soldiers, Commander.”

His hand returned to his neck, but this time a warm blush began to spread over his cheeks. “I…Thank you, Herald.”

“Evelyn. Call me, Evelyn, Cullen.”

He sincerely hoped the urge to hold her and the shiver that crept up his spine was only due to the sudden gust of cool wind.

\---

Everything was cold.

The world before her was covered in white and gray, each snowflake landing on her numbing body feeling heavier as time went on. A rush of fear warmed her bones. _‘I can’t die here.’_

 _‘Do not welcome death,’_ a voice once told her. _‘Let it welcome you when you have completed your life’s purpose.’_

Her work was not yet done, but Evelyn collapsed, welcoming her end.

\---

As they followed the signs of camps in the mountains, Solas realized that he was much more concerned about the Herald’s well-being as a whole, not just the hand the anchor was attached to. This was true after the initial shock of Corypheus’ presence. Haven had been a disaster, something the Inquisition would mark as a tragedy from now on if it were to survive this.

If anyone survived this.

They were incredibly unprepared for the snowstorm that was brewing, armor only providing as much warmth as protection. They carried no food, had little potions, and no form of shelter. Not even Varric wanted to joke in this situation as the Seeker led them through the scarce remnants of tracks left behind by the Inquisition.

She could cast a fire for herself using magic, so warmth may not be the biggest issue. _‘But what happens if she’s too weak? Does she know how to hunt for food? Is there a cave in the mountains she can take shelter in?’_ As if his mind realized how optimistic his thoughts were, more questions popped into his head. _‘Will she be found in time? Is she even able to be found? Or is she-’_

“Where is she?” Cullen demanded of Cassandra when they had reached the ones who had escaped.

“We were separated. She’s not with you?” Cassandra took in a shaky breath, suddenly aware of the most plausible outcome of their fight. “Cullen, the Herald…” The phrase lingered in the air, neither of them willing to complete the thought.

Cole appeared suddenly in between the two, “Lost. Shivering. Why is it so dark?”

“What are you talking about, you demon?” Let no one say that Cassandra was welcoming of the Inquisition’s latest guest.    

“The light. It isn’t bright, but it’s there. All alone. Cold and lost. Struggling in the snow.” The mysterious boy pointed towards the top of the mountain. “That way.”

“I’m going to find her,” Cassandra declared, dropping her sword and her shield. As she marched off, Cullen pledged his help and grabbed any able-bodied soldier they passed. She refused to accept that this was it for them, that this Corypheus could take their hero away as soon as she claimed victory. She shouted into the night, hoping that her voice would reach the Herald before she did.  “Herald!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing like the wind because my laptop can't be closed. If I can't put it away, might as well write. Stupid flimsy plastic hinges.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to get this chapter in before I left for my vacation!  
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Dragon Age, nor do I own any of its characters.

“There, it’s her!”

“Thank the Maker!”

Cradled in the Commander’s arms as he walked back to their makeshift camp was an unconscious Evelyn. Cullen and a few of his soldiers volunteered to travel back up the steep hill in an attempt to find her, a task that a few silent doubters believed to be pointless. 

“She has survived the impossible twice now,” Cassandra said in a hushed whisper, partly due to a lack of breath during their struggle to hurry back to the camp in the deep snow. The other part was in fear that if she said it too loud, it would no longer be true.

“I was afraid…” Cullen’s words trailed off into the puff of air that appeared in front of his lips. He sent his soldiers ahead of them to prepare the healers to meet them when they reached the valley. Cassandra had stayed behind to walk with him as he held the limp Evelyn in his arms, his scrunched face displaying a mixture of relief and guilt.

“We all were. What matters now is that we can move forward; find another way to go on.” At the bottom of the valley, healers swarmed the pair and guided Cullen to a cot. “Let them take care of her,” Cassandra said, her hand squeezing his arm reassuringly. “She will be fine now. She’s safe with us.”

“You’re right. But I want to stay close.” Cullen turned to look at Cassandra and was suddenly met with a knowing smile. “Just in case she wakes up…So we can plan…” She shook her head and left him where he stood outside of the tent in use to heal Evelyn. Behind her in the distance stood the elven apostate, watching from a distance.

\---

She couldn’t breathe.

There were chains, or a rope, or a collar—something restricting—around her neck, holding her by the throat. Every gasp for breath constricted her lungs even more, the feeling of hot flames scorching her from the inside out. Dark blurs clouded her vision until the images in front of her cleared, revealing colors of red and black.

“What’s wrong, Herald?” she heard a deep, menacing voice asked. She could feel the figure right before her face, breathing air into her mouth that she desperately needed for her own survival. “Look at me, Herald,” the voice growled, coming more into view. A long, rough hand held her by her throat, and her own small hands clutched at his grey skin to dislodge it. The man laughed, her actions only expelling more breath from her body. His face was scarred, jagged and partially covered by what she could only see as rocky spikes, threatening to pierce her skin if she grabbed them. Red, angry crystals protruded from his skull, burning bright in her eyes. _‘Red lyrium’_ she recognized. “Wake up, Evelyn,” the figure said in a vile tone.

“Evelyn,” the voice was more insistent, but the face was fading away. Her sight was beginning to disappear, declining into a bright white light. “Evelyn.”

“Evelyn!”

Evelyn awoke with a shout, gasping in pain from disturbing her burning throat. She was lying on a makeshift cot, the view of a tent above her. A glimpse of snowy camp was all she caught until pain shot through her, all the way from her legs to her head. Evelyn let out a low groan, her muscles screaming in agony for some sort of relief.

“Shh, I’m right here,” a calming voice told her. There was someone, someone she knew, at her side, a hand on her shoulder. The hand was heavy and full, but not pressing on her shoulder. It was not the hand that choked her; it was not her dream. Panic subsided but the itching in her throat remained, the ache in her torso pulsing with every breath. “Here, take this, Inquisitor.” Something was pressed against her lips and she opened them, tasting the healing potion as it trickled into her mouth. She sputtered and coughed while Cullen replaced the vial with a skein of cool water, which Evelyn greedily drank from.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

“Cullen,” she groaned, attempting to shift on her cot before another jolt of pain stopped her.

“Don’t move,” he said softly. “It’ll only make it worse. I’m going to go get the healer.” She could feel him moving from his position next to her.

Images swarmed her mind again, the red lyrium and the Templars enraged by it, transformed into something inhuman. The dragon, maybe an Archdemon, burning down Haven with its crackling red sparks. The figure, trying to take the power of her hand away from her, threatening her life and the life of the Inquisition. _Corypheus._

 _‘Don’t leave. Please don’t leave.’_ Evelyn thrashed out, grabbing Cullen’s wrist with as strong of a grip as she could muster. “No. Stay.”

She could hear his sigh as he took his place back at her side, leaning in close enough for her to feel his mantle brushing at her cheek. “I won’t leave you. Not this time.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, burying her face into his chest. Cullen’s bare hand hesitantly came up to brush against her chestnut hair, still damp from when they found her collapsed in the snow. As his fingers pulled away, she whimpered in protest. “Don’t stop.”

After a pause, Cullen’s hands returned to stroking her hair, softly but no longer with caution. “I am…so sorry…Evelyn.” The apology came in a whisper. His words were slow, but when the dam broke, he couldn’t stop them from pouring out. “I shouldn’t have sent you out there to die. That wasn’t your duty. I should have been out there with you. I should have been there to protect you.” Cullen was close enough to the cot for her to feel him shaking, trembling. “We could have lost you.”

 _‘No, Cullen.’_ She wanted to tell him. _‘I made the choice. It was my duty. I had to.’_

“I will make sure this never happens again.” Cullen’s words were strained, sounding as if he was forcing his voice out through clenched teeth. “I’ll strengthen our armies, our fortifications. This was my fault. I’ll keep us safe. I’ll keep you safe.”

Evelyn wanted to comfort him as he was doing for her, but she felt herself being pulled back down. With his fingers caressing her scalp, the Herald drifted back into a deep slumber.

\---

A day later, Evelyn awoke a changed person full of a feeling she had not experienced since she sealed the breach.

 

Hope tended to be in short supply in the Inquisition.

 

Evelyn was still heavily tempted to ignore Mother Giselle and the talk she had when she woke to the noise of her quarreling advisors. In fact, her first instinct was to always take what the woman said with a grain of salt simply because of her opinions and her dedication to the Chantry. Still, Evelyn had to give her some credit. After all, Mother Giselle had come to accept the fact that Andraste had supposedly chosen a mage as her earthly savior, not an easy potion to swallow. She was doing much better coping with the fact-or fiction of the situation than the other remaining members of the Chantry. 

 

She pushed the thought away of how her world would be when this was all over, if they were to make it out of this alive. There was no chance that Evelyn would return to the Circle after this. Not after the assassination of Senior Enchanter Lydia, her mentor and friend. Not after Sir Ennis pulled his sword on her and threatened to make her Tranquil for disobeying. Not after she failed to protect the mages at the Conclave for a reason she couldn’t predict.

 

Not for this, a moment she was sharing with Solas in the cold night, stars twinkling above. There was a window in her room at the Circle Tower in Ostwick that she would sit at every night when she was too anxious to fall asleep. To calm herself down, Evelyn would count the starts she could see from the small opening in the stone, staring with the biggest and brightest and ending with the tiniest little flickers. Never was the window large enough for Evelyn to see the full sky, or even a full constellation. Tonight, she could see everything above her and it was utterly surreal.

 

"Hmm?" Her neck was still craned up towards the sky when she heard him speak, but was too lost in her own head to listen to his words. 

 

“I am afraid I have lost you, Inquisitor,” Solas said. “Was I not explaining myself clearly?”

 

Evelyn could feel her cheeks burning in shame. “Apologies, Solas, I was honestly not very focused on what you were saying.” She was, at first. Her elven companion had laid down some frightening information regarding their new enemy and the origins of this orb he possessed.

 

“Magnificent, aren’t they.” Now he was the one looking above. “Sometimes I spend so much time in the Fade that I forget to appreciate the waking world.”

 

A cool wind swept through the trees, reaching the pair seconds later. Evelyn edged closer to the elf, seeking heat and a cover from the sharp gust. “As beautiful as they are, stars won’t keep us warm at night.” Evelyn turned her head back to look at the survivors in the camp. “These people need shelter, and I’m not sure how I’ll find that.”

 

“I may be able to help you with this.” Briefly her breath caught in her lungs before she looked at him in wonder. “There is a place that…I have seen in my travels.”

 

“What kind of place?” Her eyes sparkled in the light of the Veil fire. Evelyn leaned towards him with every question, suddenly filled with life. “Where is it? Can you take us there?”

 

“I cannot,” he said simply. Evelyn sighed wistfully, her head dropping. Solas placed a slender hand on her chin, tilting it so that his wintry eyes met the forest in hers. “But you can.”

 

The Herald’s eyes narrowed, her face displaying her incredulity. “What?”

 

Solas released his hand from her chin, slim fingers brushing against her neck on the way down. “You are different now. They need _you_ to find them a new home.” She remained silent, confusion still prominent on her face. Solas chuckled. “You can’t tell me that you don’t know what you now mean to the Inquition after that display.”

 

In the breeze of the night, Evelyn could still hear the singing voices of the crowd. “They think I’m the Herald of Andraste.”

 

He shook his head. “They don’t think that anymore. They _believe_ it.” Evelyn said nothing, trying to fully comprehend the depth of his words. “By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed _you._ They look to you now as their savior, their leader, their guardian. Scout to the north. Be their guide.”

 

“What’s north?”

 

“There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build. _Grow_.”

 

And so the next morning at dawn, Evelyn lead the entire Inquisition north, further into the Frostback Mountains than they have ever ventured before. Beyond her, snowy mountaintops stood tall enough to disappear through the clouds. At every step, Evelyn could see only a handful of things: snow, trees, rocks, mountains, and cliffs. It seemed the further they walked, the further they headed into nothing. Behind her were their people—men, women, and children—both able-bodied and wounded, following her as best they can. Evelyn pushed forward, the need to reach a safe place the only thought on her mind.

 

There were times, when all Evelyn could see below her was snow, that she worried. Worried that she was going the wrong way, that there was no home expecting them. Yet every time Solas was at her side, offering her words or encouragement or placing a hand on her hip to nudge her along. When they would stop for breaks, Solas would stay with her, deflecting each question she had about where they were headed. “You will see,” was his answer every time, a tiny smile gracing his features. After the fifth time, Evelyn was beginning to reach the end of her rope, as evidenced from the clump of snow she chucked at his face.

 

Normally, Solas did not partake in these “childish” games, as he called them. Sera had been the first one to pelt him with the powdery substance, and Solas struggled to refrain from fighting back. The Herald would not allow him to change the snow beneath the crass elf’s feet to ice, denying the satisfaction he would feel as he watched her slip and slide. However, Evelyn’s non-threatening playfulness was more influential on him, allowing him to easily share in her giddy emotions. Solas scooped a handful of snow into his hand, tossing it at her. The snow hit her back and exploded into a cloud of white signaling her moment to kick it up a notch. With the rest of the Inquisition at a distance behind them, its two most brilliant and powerful mages threw snow at each other.

 

There she was, a woman that Thedas had come to admire, to worship, to fear, to respect, and that woman was forgetting about all of that in this moment. There she was, flinging snow and leaping through the banks. There she was, having an experience that was so simple, yet denied to her throughout her entire life.

 

Together they ended up in the cold, billowy white piles, breathless and content. Solas leaned on his arm, looking over her as she reclined in the bank. The position put them physically closer than they ever had before, and she could feel his breath caressing her lips. They stayed there for a moment that felt like hours, the tip of her nose almost touching his.

 

Solas stood and the moment was over, shattered by the distance he created. He brushed the snow from his tattered threads before he held a hand out to her to assist her in doing the same. “Come. It is not much further.”

 

“Are you sure?” she asked, when the only evidence that remained of their shared event was her damp robes. For her question, she received no response. Instead, he walked by her side up and over the incline, framed by twin rocky peaks. Evelyn pushed herself up and stopped, expecting to be met with more cavernous white valleys. That’s when she saw _it._ Her eyes fixated on the sight in front of her, a sight that which no words in her language could ever do justice.

_“Skyhold.”_


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a word of warning, my Hawke makes an appearance in this chapter. I love my sarcastic, tail-chasing, asshole Garrett Hawke to pieces and I couldn't write this without throwing him in at some point.   
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Dragon Age nor any of its characters.

Skyhold was promising.

The more time and people they invested into shaping up the castle, the more it was starting to feel like home. With every rock and wooden beam that was pushed aside, more of Skyhold was open for her to explore. Evelyn stumbled upon rooms she couldn’t even fathom a purpose for. “You could put a garden in this space,” a tired Adan said to her as they stood in the small inner courtyard. He tugged at his sleeves to cover the burns on his hands, the result of Haven’s chaos. Evelyn shuddered to think of what could have happened if she had not found him in time.

“It has…a lot of…open space,” Josephine explained to her as she took her to the hallway that adjoined the Ambassador’s office and their new war room.

Evelyn clutched to the wall that remained intact, desperate to move as far away as possible from the sight of the mountains below that the crumbled stone provided. “Josie, this is not a _window,_ this is a problem of infrastructure.”

“Or we can think of it as a nice feature that is providing us scenic views…And fresh air.”

Cullen led her up the newly repaired staircase at the battlements. “So, we have decided that this is where I’ll have my office. It’s towards the middle of the ramparts so I can easily keep track of which of my soldiers are currently on guard, and I can keep a good lookout of the gate myself if needed.”

Running her hands along the already stocked bookcases, Evelyn’s eye caught the ladder heading to the level above. “And what’s up here?”

As always during situations that made him uncomfortable, Cullen cleared his throat and rubbed at the back of his neck. “That…Would be my…living quarters.”

Without an invitation, Evelyn climbed the ladder to take in the sad scene. “There’s nothing here. And there’s no roof!” She dropped back down again to look Cullen in the eye. “This doesn’t even count as a room! You can’t stay here. We can find a space for you in the main building.”

“With all due respect, my lady, I would prefer to stay here for now. There are others who are in more need of those rooms. I also think it would be beneficial for me to stay close to my work. We’re not safe yet.”

Sighing, Evelyn gave him a shrug of defeat. “Fine, but promise me this won’t be a permanent solution.”

“Are you worried about my health?” The question was earnest, but there was still a glimmer in his eye that gave her pause. Now it was her turn to blush. “Besides, if you think this is bad, you should see where the Iron Bull sleeps.” And so, Evelyn followed where the Commander was pointing to only to find an absolute disaster of a space, along with the Iron Bull and a naked redhead. The redhead was no surprise as she recalled he explained his “preference” to her when they first met, but the creative use of ropes was a bit unsettling. Especially since she thought she had seen them used for construction purposes only hours ago.

“What a savage beast that man is,” Dorian had drawled when Evelyn confessed what she saw to him hours later in the library. “We’ve only been here a matter of weeks and he is already sleazing around the Inquisition.”

The sound of raven’s caws and the flapping of wings from above could be heard echoing against the bookshelves. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to make a big deal about this.”

“What’s there to make a big deal of?” The mage picked up a book from the shelf and blew the dust off the cover, coughing when it came back in his face. “Why should I care what bumbling buffoon does?”

Evelyn crossed her arms and shifted her weight to the side, something her circle of friends was beginning to dub as the “sign of impending smugness.” When the smirk came out, they always prepared for the burn that was to follow. “You’re putting in an awful amount of effort to describe him.”

“Oh no, you are not getting me riled up. I know your tricks.” Sauntering over to the chair in the corner, Dorian flipped open the book to end their conversation. “Plus, you already have enough on your plate.”

To say that Evelyn had enough on her plate would be an understatement. Right about now, Evelyn had a platter filled to the brim with a four-course feast. Corypheus could be anywhere after the destruction of Haven with the remaining Red Templars at his disposal. Despite Alexius’ death, the Venatori were still active in parts of Orlais, which was currently preoccupied with a civil war. On top of that, the Empresses’ life was threatened by an “army of demons” that may or may not exist, and there might be an Archdemon that may not be able to be defeated if all of the Grey Wardens had disappeared.

It was all Evelyn’s to deal with, because Evelyn was now the Inquisitor.

\---

Cullen stood at the inner door to the room, sweating in his armor. Normally, to be fully dressed was a positive. Not only was he able to stay warm in the crisp mountain air, but it was able to give him a visual depiction of his status. When it came to nobles showing their superiority through fashion, Cullen was utterly unimpressed. However, he knew that wearing his uniform was an easy way to assert authority as the Commander of the Inquisition, especially when some of his soldiers knew him from his time as a Templar. He liked the men and women that served under him, but professionalism was key method to keeping alert in a time of war.

Except the uniform felt terrible when he sweat. Cullen couldn’t tell if it was from sickness or from nerves at this point in time, and the two might even be related to one another. If he was about to suffer another attack from lyrium withdrawal, that would be bad. If he was about to suffer another attack while in the Inquisitor’s quarters, that would be catastrophic. If he was just sweating from being anxious about entering Evelyn’s room, then that was only mildly terrible.

They first opened Evelyn’s room to her today as a surprise from her return from her diplomatic trip to Val Royeaux. As Leliana described it, she was “giddier than a nug in a cave.” Cullen assumed that meant she was happy with it, so happy that she was using the desk in the room as her new office space. The office space that he was now about to enter once he knocked on her door.

Cullen raised his empty hand to the door and paused, clutching at the report in his other hand harder than before. _What if she’s not in here? What if there are others in there with her? What if she’s naked?_ Taking a deep swallow, Cullen pushed away the fear and the hope that the last situation was possible. _Do not think about the Inquisitor naked. Don’t._

His fist knocked on the door, and the muffled sound of her voice responded. What the voice said, Cullen couldn’t tell, but he took the ability to turn the unlocked knob as a sign to enter.

Oh, how he was wrong.

At the top of the stairs was a crackling fire in the fireplace, a new settee imported from Orlais, and the Inquisitor quickly gripping the sides of her open vest to cover her exposed chest. “Maker, Cullen! I said to hold on!”

“Oh-ah-I-oh, sweet Maker.” Cullen picked anything else in the room to look at—rug, balcony, curtains—curtains. The curtains were nice and…Red. Red was a nice color. It was almost the shade of red that he wore on his uniform and, at this current moment, his face. He took a deep breath to compose himself and addressed her with his eyes still glued to the draperies. “My apologies, Inquisitor. I couldn’t hear what you said through the door.” His hand made its way to the back of his head, weight shifting on each foot. “I assumed it was safe to come in because the door was unlocked.

Evelyn continued to fiddle with the buttons on her vest, her back turned to him. “No, I apologize. I haven’t figured out just exactly how thin that door is. Or how to lock it.” She turned around, now completely clothed. “I…Josephine surprised me by ordering these. She took the measurements from Harritt. Do they look okay?”

In order to answer the question, Cullen needed to peel his eyes away from the walls. The sight he was presented with was beyond okay. Brown leather boots crawled up her calves to reach her knees, revealing the leather leggings that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The jacket, now closed, was brown leather with bronze buttons enclosing the front from top to bottom. A small red scarf wrapped around her neck at the top, and the bottom…Well the bottom reached nowhere close to covering _her_ bottom. “It’s…uhm…very nice,” is what he said.

What Cullen meant to say was something along the lines of “If you ever wear your mage’s robes again, or anything else, it would be a travesty.”

A knowing smile crept onto her face, as if she was learning how to interpret his language already. “Thank you. What did you need to see me about again?”

“Ah, yes, well,” he sputtered out before clearing his throat. “I just received a report on the war activity in the Dales. It looks like Gaspard and the Empress are at an equal match.” He handed her the report he remembered he was carrying. “It also looks like they may all be distracted by other enemies. Not only is there rift activity causing all sorts of chaos with demons and the undead, but there’s a group of deserters attacking soldiers on both sides of the war. Apparently, they’re calling themselves the Freemen of the Dales.”

Her eyes quickly scanned through the words on the paper. “Wait, what’s this about undead? Not darkspawn, right?”

“No, more like reanimated dead soldiers.”

Evelyn walked over to the desk on the other side of the room to place the report on the growing stack of papers already there. “More of them. Just what we don’t need. Leliana said that Crestwood might have some similar problems. I’m leaving there with Hawke tomorrow to find his Warden friend.”

Before he could finish his sentence, she interrupted him. “Inquisitor-”

“Evelyn,” she corrected him. “Just because my title has changed, you don’t have to use it while we’re in private.” Her eyes met his in a silent question of understanding, and he nodded. “And second, I know you and Hawke have never seen eye-to-eye, but Varric trusts him. I trust Varric. Cassandra doesn’t trust Hawke, but I trust her, too. It’s probably unwise to bring the two of them to Crestwood together right now, but we’ll need a balanced opinion and I’m sure that Blackwall and I will be able to keep the peace.”

Cullen ran his gloved hands through his hair, already able to feel the strands curling at the ends. Seemed like it was time to cut it again. “No, I don’t like him, but I know that he will keep you safe. If I can’t do so while you’re out there, then I’m glad he can.”

This time, the smile was smaller but somehow even brighter. “Good.”

Motioning towards the stairs, Cullen started to back out of the room. “I should return to my duties. Safe travels, my lady.”

“Will you be at the gates tomorrow to see us out, Commander?” Cullen paused on the top step of the staircase and looked back at her, the light from the fireplace dancing on her body.

“Of course.”

\---

She had found him later in the tall rotunda below Leliana’s new base of information and the library. Solas had always considered this room to be an unfinished section, something he was saving for a special time. Filling this room with murals seemed to be the only appropriate action to take, especially because the rest of the Inquisition was doing the hard work for him.

Dilapidation and decay were normal, though Solas was pleasantly astonished to see what great shape Skyhold was in. There were little additions that he could tell were from other travelers—a portrait here, a carving there—but otherwise it remained so familiar. To see the structure back in its glory would be rewarding.

“I didn’t know you could paint,” she said from the doorway as she watched him review his work.

“Fresco,” he clarified. “And there are many things you do not know about me, Inquisitor.”

Evelyn walked further into the room and leaned against the untouched wall. “There’s that title again. Every time I hear it, I still can’t believe that people are speaking to me.”

Smoothing his hand over the newly added reds and blacks, Solas addressed her without turning. “It is a title you have earned. They are not saying it without realizing the weight it holds.”

She pushed herself off of the wall and began to make her way towards where he was standing. “Did you know?” Solas finally turned to look at her, clad in leathers. Little light poured into the room from the sunset, but it was enough to highlight the auburn pigments that hid in her hair. “When you helped me find this place, did you know that they were going to name me Inquisitor?”

The elf placed his hands behind his back. “Officially no, I did not. But anyone could see that you were the best fit to lead. You already were, just without the legitimacy.”

Shrugging, Evelyn focused her attention onto the various papers and pieces littering his desk. “Anyone but me, apparently. How am I supposed to rule? An apostate with no knowledge of how to win a war against an enemy we don’t understand.”

Solas walked towards the desk, slowly closing the gap between them. “That is what your advisors are for, and what they have already been doing. They may have wanted you to make the decisions because of your mark, but now they need you to.”

Evelyn remained silent, her eyes now focused on the fresco. She began to walk towards him, and then past him, her hands following the same track on the wall that his hands had made moments ago. “I want to know,” she whispered, gently breaking the silence. When he did not respond, Evelyn continued. “I want to know more about you.”

Now at her side, Solas tentatively placed his hand on her arm the way she would do to him. “When you return, I will show you.”

\--

For a man that had been on the run for so long, the Champion of Kirkwall was dreadfully noisy. After the fires of Cassandra’s rage burnt out, Hawke wasted no time becoming acquainted with the layout of Skyhold, especially the tavern. Second and third place respectfully went to his favorite former Knight Captain’s office and wherever the Inquisitor’s backside was.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was pretty?” The later it was at Skyhold, the emptier it was in the main hall. Varric scribbled notes on the various parchments he laid out on the table, which were becoming harder to see with only the light of the fire blazing in the hearth next to him. Hawke nudged the dwarf’s bottle of Antivan red closer to him, forgotten in the midst of letter writing.

“Ya know, some things tend to slip your mind in the middle of the war. I’m lucky I remember about the demons, and the Gray Wardens, and that giant hole in the sky.” Varric shook his head and replaced the quill in his hand for the neck of the bottle, taking a deep swig.

“But Varric, she’s _pretty_. These are things I need to know.” Hawke took a sip of his own bottle. “Plus, I’m pretty, too. We must have been destined to team up to save the world together.”

“I’ve got news for you, Hawke. If you think Isabela is pretty, then you’re not pretty.” Varric shook his head, taking another swig. “Shit, you’re not even Fenris pretty.”

The Champion let out an overdramatic gasp. “How could you! You wound me so.” Leaning back into his chair, the gruff man scratched his chin. “But really, back to the Inquisitor-”

“Seriously? She’s the Inquisitor, and you’re not quite available yourself!”

“I wasn’t planning on anything, just admiring. Curiosity didn’t really kill the cat.”

“Besides,” Varric leaned in, a story-telling tactic he took out of his pocket to make the thought more interesting. “Evelyn’s gathered some attention around here.”

“Oh, do I know them? Let me guess, it’s that giant Qunari with the intimidating eyepatch! No, wait, it’s the sexy Seeker that hates me—oh I would love to watch that.”

Varric held up his palm, his friend’s silent cue to stop his prattling. “It’s even better.” Hawke leaned in too, waiting in anticipation as the dwarf took another sip from his bottle. “It’s Curly.”

A moment of silence passed between the pair until the bearded human broke out in a fit of laughter. Hawke nearly fell off of the chair he sat in, too consumed with the humor of what he believed to be a joke. “No really, who?”

“I’m not kidding. Cullen can’t look at her without blushing like a serving maiden. He’s got it for her bad but won’t tell her!”

“I’m getting him for this tomorrow before we leave.”

From behind the closed door to the rotunda, Solas listened carefully to the voices interrupting his studies. He should not have been so surprised that Cullen harbored feelings for the Inquisitor. At least half of the time she spent on her duties was dedicated to meeting with him. Certainly a bond deeper than colleagues could form like that.

It was not unlike what was happening between the two of them.

But he had a goal that went beyond the scope of the Inquisition’s plans. As much as Solas knew, she could not be a part of that goal. However, removing her from it would no longer be painless for the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I had more planned for this chapter, a big thing actually, but this chapter have been a bit too long. No worries, we'll see that next chapter.   
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait! Updates will probably come with a longer wait now, since August marked the return of a busy schedule. I promise chapters will always be up as soon as they are finished. Thank you all for bearing with me!  
> As an expected warning, this chapter marks the start of some minor cannon divergence.  
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own any portion of the Dragon Age franchise nor its characters.

“I see you’ve been reading again about fairy tales,” said Nanna in her raspy voice. In her hands was a book Evelyn had stashed under her pillows to read by dim candlelight in the middle of the night when she was supposed to be asleep.

“But Nanna, that story is real!” Evelyn protested, crossing her arms against her chest. The maidservant had just finished braiding her hair for bed and was preparing to tuck the youngest Trevelyan into bed when she found the young girl’s secret reading. “It has the story of Ser Aveline in it!”

“Exactly why it’s a fairy tale to you.” Nanna wagged a finger at Evelyn, but the girl found that fixing her nightshirt was a more important task than receiving a lecture. “You do not need to read scary stories of people fighting. Fighting is too dangerous for a pretty girl like you.”

“But Nanna, I won’t be a young girl anymore soon!” Her maidservant tsked at the outburst and pointed towards the bed, a silent order. “Besides, I don’t want to fight until I’m older.”

“You better not fight at all, young or old. It’s not right for a lady of your status to fight.”

Evelyn climbed into the bed, using the sheets as leverage to hoist herself into it. “I don’t even know what that means,” she muttered under her breath.

Nanna let out an exasperated sigh and handed her another book. “I can’t stop you from reading at night, but I can at least control what you read.”

Seizing the book greedily, Evelyn held the heavy tome with small hands and began to read the front cover. “An Age of Glory…Divine Re-na-ta the First?”

“If you’re going to join the Chantry when you’re older, you need to learn the history of those who served as Divine. You might even become one someday.”

“But Nanna, I don’t want to join the Chantry!”

The older woman gave the child a stern glare, no longer entertaining her outbursts. “Well, you must! You’re the youngest in this family and it is expected of you.”

“Why can’t I be a Templar then? Edwin said he’s going to!”

“Have you gone deaf, child?” In her confusion of the question, Evelyn remained quiet. “As I said, it is not proper for a girl like you to be so interested in fighting. I pray that you never think of raising a sword ever again. Now, goodnight.” Nanna blew out the candle closest to the door and left the room, leaving a little sliver of light in the room for her to read.

But in the darkness of the room, a tall figure emerged in the shadows. Thin and craggy it grew until it encompassed all of Evelyn’s bedroom in a sea of red and black, calling out her name in a ragged voice.

“Evelyn!”

Evelyn awoke with a gasp in the tent, beads of cool sweat dotting her neck and forehead. As she panted, her eyes searched the darkness to see if her nightmare had disturbed Cassandra. Finding her companion still asleep, Evelyn crawled over her bedroll and exited the tent, greeted with the sight of the camp in the nighttime.

Not that the sky looked any different than it already did during the daytime.

The weather of Crestwood was morbid, most likely due to the swirling green light dominating the sky above the great lake. In her conversation with the mayor from earlier, they had found that this strange phenomenon had been occurring ever since the large rift opened. The skies remained dark and overcast, and they continued to defend themselves against the undead that threatened to enter the village. She may have come to find a Grey Warden, but the Inquisition was not leaving until this situation was remedied. Right before retiring to her tent, Evelyn wrote a report to send back to Leliana with the reason as to why they would be spending a bit more time in Crestwood. She promised the fortress they would hold when she was done would be worth the wait.

Despite the rain that dripped from the skies from time to time, Hawke was able to keep a small fire in the middle of the camp. “I wouldn’t turn your back to him, if I were you,” Varric had warned her when he brought his mount next to hers during the journey there.

“But I thought you said you were friends with him,” she whispered back, keeping her voice low so that the rest of the party could not eavesdrop. “He won’t kill us, right?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. Simply just…Don’t literally turn your back to him.”

Although still troubled by Varric’s advice, Evelyn pulled a blanket around her shoulders from her pack and sat on the log next to Hawke by the fire. “What time do you think it is?”

“Oh, same as always. Half past gloom.”

Evelyn softly chuckled at his joke. “I can see why you and Varric are such close friends.”

She could also see why Varric had always labeled him as charming and charismatic. Hawke had a smile that could light the way in a dark cave. Considering all the caverns that made up Crestwood, she might need him to. “We rub off on each other. Gets us through those dark times, like right now.”

A pause filled the air, another reminder that made them aware of how looming the threat of Corypheus really was. Though, her nightmares were already doing an excellent job of that already. “Thank you for keeping guard, and leading this expedition.”

When Hawke was jovial, the wear and tear of his face almost disappeared. When he was grim, the features returned in the most pronounced way. The wrinkles forming around his eyes were less pronounced than those on his forehead, cut partially by thin scars. Silver streaks ran through the thick black hair on the top of his head and his beard. When Evelyn was given a mirror in her room, she had noticed that she was forming some of these attributes as well. Deep circles were beginning to shape under her eyes from the lack of sleep, and a scar graced the side of her face from just below her ear to her jawline—a Templar’s sword that came too close for comfort.

“I have to,” he said to her after a period of silence. “I still can’t help but think that all of this wouldn’t happen if it weren’t for me.” A silence passed between the two of them. Upon their first meeting, and in numerous conversations with Varric, Evelyn made it know that this could not have been their fault. They had no way of knowing.

“Hawke, how do you do it? How do you live knowing that you have so many lives on your shoulders, so many people depending on you?”

His story may have been written in a book, but it was truly told deep in his brown eyes. When she looked at him, Evelyn saw true sadness and loss, heartbreak and grief. “You just…Do. You just keep moving forward and you don’t stop.” She looked back at her feet, unsure if she had just heard an answer she wanted. “Not everyone can be helped, no. But if you don’t at least try, then everyone turns to no one.” He handed her the leather wineskin that had been placed at his side. “This helps, too.”

Evelyn took the pouch and sniffed at the opening, sensing something strong. “What is it?” An urging motion with his hands for her to drink was his only response. Dropping all hesitation, Evelyn took at drink from the pouch and coughed immediately from the burn. “It’s…strong,” she sputtered.

He chuckled and took a drink from it himself. “Like I said, it helps.”

\---

“Thank you for joining us, Solas,” Cullen heard the Ambassador say in her airy Antivan accent, distracting him from the missive Leliana had handed him moments ago. He noticed that Josephine barely took her eyes up from where they were focused on her note board. She was still busy scribbling away at the correspondence she was drafting. Solas nodded at the advisors in the room and walked up to the grand table in the center.

“The Inquisitor has mentioned to us that she has had a bit of…unusual activity with the Anchor as of recently,” Leliana, in all her poise and wisdom, seemed as if this topic confused her. “We have looked into acquiring an agent for the Inquisiton to assist with this and act as her trainer.”

No emotion appeared on the elf’s face. “I see. Who is this trainer then? And why speak to me about this issue without the Inquisitor present?”

“Well, I am actually not quite sure.” Making space on the war table, Josephine laid out a handful of papers. Cullen traded the missive he was reading for the first sheet in front of him, a letter addressed to one of the Ambassador’s contacts about a mage. “I don’t have their name, nor a description of what this person might look like. I just have this letter here,” Josephine paused, shuffling through her correspondence to pick up the correct letter she was referencing, “that the Inquisitor should be prepared for the work they will do together and that she may address her as ‘Your Trainer.’”

Cullen scoffed. “That will be wonderful for security. Can I trust this person?”

“Yes!” Josephine insisted with fervor. “Most likely.” Turning to a patient Solas, Josephine continued on to answer his other remaining question. “We want the Inquisitor to improve on her abilities. Solas, you have done so much to help the Inquisitor of your own volition, and we know you still will while you’re on the field with her. However, you spend so much of your time here in Skyhold focused on other pursuits. This trainer will allow you to spend more time on your research.”

Cullen looked up from the letter he was reading and caught Solas’ ice blue eyes. Clutching the paper, he froze. _‘I’ve seen this before,’_ he thought, fear creeping up his spine. At night, when dreams terrorized his sleep, he would see those eyes. A predatory gaze hunted him whenever he closed his own eyes to see that familiar sight of dark red blood on grey stone walls. It followed him as he tried to block the sounds of fighting and screams while demons made their way through the tower, cutting down Templar and mage alike. He has seen those eyes before and they have given him nothing but pain and misery.

The Commander blinked and the menacing stare from Solas was gone. In its place was the same calm gaze that Solas always had, making Cullen second-guess what he had just seen. “I appreciate that, Lady Ambassador. That was very thoughtful of you. I will be ready to assist this trainer in whichever means they see fit.”

“Quite a gentleman for an apostate,” Leliana muttered as the man in the ratted tunic left the room. Cullen released his grip on the paper and let the letter drift back down onto the table.

\---

The warm breeze brushed through the bright green foliage on the trail, no longer masked in the rain and storms. Evelyn’s auburn hair, which was once short enough to tuck behind her ears, whipped around her face and shoulders. She huffed and attempted to pull her hair back away from her eyes. “When we stop to make camp later, I can help you cut that.” The Seeker appeared at her side, holding out the reigns of her horse for her. These little conversations between the two of them were becoming more frequent and less uncomfortable the more time they traveled with each other. Slowly but surely, the animosity the pair held towards each other at Evelyn’s unnecessary capture faded.

“Thanks, that would be helpful.” Evelyn placed her left food in the stirrup and pusher herself up and onto the saddle, thoughts swirling of a budding friendship between the two. 

“I think this trip has been a success,” Cassandra had said to her as she mounted her horse, graceful despite the armor she war. “You can already see how Crestwood has improved since you closed the rift here.”

It wasn’t an understatement. Crestwood had completely changed since they arrived. The rain and clouds were replaced with sunshine and warmth, almost making it difficult to leave. Reanimated corpses and demons no longer threatened the village nor their new fortifications at Caer Bronach. Old Crestwood was fascinating yet haunting, but when Evelyn looked out at the lake, she knew the village would be able to finally heal.

Evelyn furrowed her brow, partially in concentration on mounting her mare, and partially because she felt she must debunk Cassandra’s statement. “Except Mayor Dedrick still hasn’t been seen.”

Cassandra clicked her heels against her horse, commanding it to begin walking. “We will find him. I have no doubt that Leliana will be able to track him down and bring him to justice.” Evelyn directed her mount to walk at the Seeker’s side. “Do not let yourself be fooled that one setback does not allow for success.”

With a smile on her face, Evelyn took one final look back at the village. “Keep moving forward, right?”

\---

It was late when she came to him.

The Inquisitor’s travel party returned from Crestwood a week later than they originally had anticipated. News of the large rift that dominated the area came only after they had departed to seek out the Grey Warden. Immediately after her return, the party locked themselves with the Inquisition’s advisors in the War Room, no doubt speaking of the implications of their trip in-depth. All of Skyhold could feel the onset of battle, a feeling of discomfort and apprehension they were not given a chance to feel before Haven’s attack.

Solas could smell the scent of spindleweed and vandal aria from the doorway before he could see her. The tips of her hair were damp and her cheeks were stained a darker pink, the signs of a bath. Her battle robes were traded for a simple pair of leggings and a jacket, indicating that she would not be meeting anyone of political or financial importance before she retired for the night. He expected her to already be asleep, weary from travel and deliberation, but Evelyn did not forget his promise.

Solas resigned to let her experience a wisp of the power he held in the Fade, to listen to a snippet of his story. He took her to Haven, the recent memory of a budding resistance not yet developed by curious spirits still fearful of the breach. In his speech, he recalled his memory of their first meeting, how she struggled to survive in her fall from the Fade and his desire to give up. Solas did not tell her the depth of what he would be losing if he did.

“I was ready to flee.”

“But you stayed.”

Solas turned away from her and extended his arm out towards the bright green pillar in the distance as Evelyn did when she closed it. “I did. I told myself, ‘one more attempt to seal the rifts.’ I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, and then-” The memory was stronger in the Fade. Solas could feel once again the power coursing through her as he gripped her wrist. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation. You had sealed it with a gesture…” He paused to look into those inquisitive eyes that dragged answers and explanations from him with every prodding statement. “And then I felt the whole world change.”

“Felt the whole word change?”

“A figure of speech.” Evelyn began to close the distance between them, taking a few small steps to cover the short space.

“I’m aware of the metaphor, I’m more interested in felt.”

It was a confession that stated everything she wanted to hear and nothing he wanted to tell her. “You change…everything.”

Soft lips pressed to his in an instant, gone as quickly as they were there. In his mind, Solas knew it was wrong, but his body disagreed, chasing after her kiss like a wild hound. It had been so long since he took any form of physical comfort in another. She felt strange in his arms, not slender enough to feel elven yet melding perfectly to his form. Even as Evelyn pulled away, Solas could feel his control slipping, the need to pull her back in overpowering. And as he kissed her again in earnest, a single word echoed like a mantra in his mind.

_Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No update for a month and then two chapters in one week? Will I ever become consistent? Probably not, so thanks for sticking with me so far.   
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Dragon Age nor its characters.

“How did it go?”

The mage sauntered into the candlelit room and slumped onto the bed. Evelyn dropped the papers she was reading onto the side table and scooted over to make room. Dorian had been alone with his father for hours, and Evelyn was ready to call it a night whether or not her companion made it to the room.

“It wasn’t what I was expecting but…it’s something.” Dorian found the energy to begin removing his ivory-colored leathers. “One bed, Inquisitor? Do you want a lecture from Mother Giselle on your scandalous behavior?”

Mother Giselle was the reason as to why she was in Redcliffe Village in the first place. She awoke the other day from her adventure with Solas in the Fade past dawn, the sun already visible above the tips of the Frostbacks. Evelyn awoke suddenly that morning at his prompting in her dream, and her only thoughts were to seek him out _immediately_. Whether it was an explanation or a continuation, Evelyn wasn’t sure.

 It felt _real._ Everything about it felt real—the dampness of her old cell beneath the chantry, the sound of snow crunching beneath her boots, and the grip of slender hands at her back, pulling her deeper into a kiss. Even if the dream of Haven faded into nothing, the kiss remained with her in the morning. She could still feel his breath against her mouth, his lips moving sensually on hers. It would have been better if he never woke her up.

Yet as soon as she entered the main hall, Mother Giselle was at her outer door with a letter from Dorian’s father, rife with deception and deceit. The Inquisitor, in all her brutal honesty, outright refused the woman’s plan. “I pray you change your mind, Inquisitor. Perhaps their letter will persuade you. If there is any chance of success in this, it behooves us to act.”

“It behooves us to tell the damned truth, woman,” she whispered to herself on her way to hand the same letter right to Dorian’s hands.

Evelyn pulled the covers back on the bed for him. “I can’t actually describe to you how little I care for Mother Giselle’s opinion of the matter.” Dorian chuckled, now stripped of everything aside from his smallclothes. Climbing into the bed next to Evelyn, tugging the sheets out from underneath his bedmate for the night. “It would have been easier to just to follow our normal travel habits and sleep in a tent at this point,” she said, laughing.

“And miss out on all this luxury?” Dorian moved to sit up on his elbows. “Dark wood interior, probably not rotting, two whole candles—one of which you have almost burned down to the bottom of the wick—sheets that most likely don’t have bugs running through them, and I’ve heard this town is haunted! You Southerners know how to go on a vacation.”

Evelyn smacked him on the arm with her pillow, drawing out a dramatically pained groan from the other mage. “So ungrateful.” Blowing out the candle, Evelyn readjusted herself in bed and turned to face him, the light shining from the stars outside the window illuminating his face in the shadows. In the darkness, the worry lines that adorned his forehead were as noticeable as the circles under his eyes. She adopted a more serious tone when she addressed him again. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

Dorian sighed, not meeting her eyes. “I’m…Not yet. I’m not ready.” The man turned to face her now, the shadow of a frown on his face. “But if my father were to barge in now, he might actually be the happiest man in the Imperium.”

“You’re a handsome man, Dorian, but we both know that only sleeping will be happening in this bed tonight.”

“Well of course. You’re a remarkable woman, but you’ve got the wrong face, voice, hair, curves, skin, muscles, and parts. Otherwise you’re perfect.”

Evelyn brought her hand up to tuck the hair that had come out of his styled look. “Glad to hear it. Apologies I’m not a man right now.”

“As long as that man came with a stiff drink and another thing stiff, then maybe I’d prefer it.” Dorian cupped her hand in his, an action that might have even been taboo in Tevinter. “No, my dear Evelyn, I am grateful for your company right now. Even if this terrible day made me cancel my chess plans with your dashing Commander.”

Evelyn giggled. “Do you mean the Inquisition’s Commander or mine specifically? You’re the one apparently going on dates with him.”

“Not romantic ones, unfortunately.” Dorian huffed. “I’ve found out that he prefers someone with your face, voice, hair, curves, skin, muscles, and parts. Sounds like you’re perfect.”

“Really, Dorian,” huffed Evelyn. “Are we really going to act like teenagers giddy over some boys?”

A cloud passed by, blocking the light from the starts and plunging the room into darkness. “Would be easier, wouldn’t it?” His tone was somber, his jovial mood all but disappeared.

“Dorian,” she whispered in the darkness. “Are you alright?”

“No. Not really.” Evelyn stroked his hair until he managed to fall asleep.

\---

When she was a young girl, Evelyn could not understand why her older sister was accepting a marriage proposal from a man that had only come to visit Ostwick once. How could you fall in love with someone you didn’t know? That day, Evelyn’s mother imparted some advice to her growing daughter about love.

_“Love is not for noble lords and ladies who want to make their families happy.”_

Evelyn was no stranger to trysts with other mages, late nights spent in silence under blankets, ears straining to hear the clanking of armor in empty hallways. Her heart would flutter and blood rushed through her veins whenever she was involved in a secret romance, but it never lasted long. Each would move on to the next, never remaining attached out of fear. It was much easier to choose to lose something rather than have that choice made for them.

Fear was the primary factor underlying everything—fear of being caught, beaten, shattered.

Then there was a transfer from Fereldan, a Templar with sky blue eyes. He was only just beginning to understand the life of a Templar, not yet cruel and wicked like other members of the order. Excitement charged through her body when she caught him in the halls, lightning bolts shocking her with the exchange of silent greetings. Silent greetings turned to vocal acknowledgements, which turned to short conversations, which turned to full conversations in secret. He gave her hope that not all Templars felt the need to do harm.  

 _‘Is this it?’_ she had thought, lying awake at night while the other mages slipped easier into sleep. _‘Is this love?’_ She never got a chance to make her feelings known before the rebellion spread. The image still appears in her dreams—his body on the stone floor, limbs and chest pierced with shards of ice. As the Circle tower fell that day, Evelyn did not learn of love but of war. War killed innocent and guilty alike, and judgement was a privilege taken by chaos.

Evelyn was young and stupid. She still held a naïve belief then that she could have found happiness within her imprisonment, blinded by her background of a noble birth that faded after her Harrowing.

It wasn’t that Solas did not make her feel anything. On the contrary, she had been feeling that there was something between them for quite some time. There were moments she caught herself wanting to stand closer to him in conversation, times when his ice-blue eyes displayed joy at providing her answers to her conversations. And the kiss…She wanted that kiss. She started that kiss, and she still wanted more.

There was an appointment taking up a portion of her afternoon: another chess match with Cullen. Currently, the Commander sat with Dorian at the chess table in the gazebo of the garden, recently cleaned out in the hopes of cultivating the space to grow more herbs. Mother Giselle suggested turning the ground into a place of worship for Andraste, but there was no need. A miniature chantry could exist in one of the many rooms attached to the courtyard, might as well use this garden practically. Evelyn was not earning much favor with the woman as of late, especially when she came back with the Tevinter last night. The scorned look on her face only showed that she was hoping he would return with his family to his home instead of Skyhold. That conversation could wait.

For now, it was much more relaxing to watch Dorian and Cullen compete with each other at chess before it was her turn to join in. From the outside, it appeared that the unlikely pair were actually friends with their bright smiles and shared laughter. Cullen handed Dorian something, a small bottle filled with a deep brown liquid, and clapped him on the shoulder. The mage, in turn, squeezed the former-Templar’s hand before he dropped it. Dorian must have spoken to Cullen about what happened between him and his father.

Cullen was honestly becoming even more of a pleasant surprise. She had heard rumors in her castle about her Commander, whispers from gossiping women stalking through Skyhold’s halls. From what she overheard, Cullen was not always the kind man he appeared to be now. Somehow he had changed from his time as Kirkwall’s Knight-Captain, and even Ostwick’s Circle heard of the cruelties endured by mages there under Knight-Commander Meredith. Considering who he once was, and still might be behind closed doors, made her anxious.

It was little moments like this, as Dorian stood up from the table, that showed Cullen’s true colors. That he had a past but sought a new future, one that was making himself better. That’s when her anxiety turned to curiosity, her desire to learn about him overpowering it all. And when Evelyn spotted the white rose on the side of the table, curiosity turned to butterflies.

She knew he would try to make up some excuse, that it was lying on the ground or it was left there by someone who played before them. Cullen’s inability to follow through with a romantic gesture without stumbling or stuttering was almost endearing. Evelyn hated that it was utterly _terrifying_ to know that someone, possibly even two people at once, felt this way about her.

She needed to stop pushing off her conversation with Solas.

\---

She did not speak to him for days after their kiss. His rotunda went unvisited, though he still heard her voice floating from the balconies above his space. He occupied the time away from her no differently than he already had by journeying through the Fade, studying the Veil, and planning what would be next for his fresco. Each activity was an attempt to dissuade his mind from thinking about her and her lips on his.

Solas had a plan for this world, a plan that he has been constantly attempting to salvage with every new event. Corypheus has presented a greater setback than expected, yet so had the Inquisitor.

In the long-term, there was no place in his world for Evelyn. In the short-term, he needed her and the Inquisition. He couldn’t just pick up and leave like he had first intended to, not when he needed their resources. No sense throwing away his direct line back to Corypheus and his orb. However, in regards to Evelyn, it would be far easier to simply pick up and leave. There was no way to fully explain himself—his actions and why they were wrong.

Solas rehearsed the conversation he would have with her when she finally came back to him. Apologize, explain that this could not be, and move on. _“Why?”_ She would ask him in his mind every time. Every time Solas thought of another answer to it, never satisfied. _“We are at war. I am a distraction. You are the Inquisitor, and I am but a humble apostate. It could lead to trouble. It has been too long for me. It’s easier in the Fade.”_

_“We cannot be in this world.”_

As much as he yearns to be with her, he is right. They cannot be in her world, nor she in his.

When she came to him, it was unlike her normal spirited self. She was cautious, remaining in the alcove rather than stepping inside. Evelyn was dressed in clothes befit for an Inquisitor, a symbol of the power that came with her title. Yet even when Solas needed to see the Inquisitor, not the woman in the position, he could not. She was Evelyn, she always had been Evelyn, appearing as frightened and stubborn as she did when he saw her conscious for the first time. When he looked up to greet her, she began to speak.   

“Solas, about what happened in the Fade,” she paused, taking a deep breath.

He jumped into his reply, taking advantage of her hesitancy. “I apologize. The kiss was impulsive and ill considered, and I should not have encouraged it.”

Evelyn jumped back in, ready with her own apology. “Solas, I thought you were interested. If I misread you, I apologize.”

“No, you have no need to apologize, and…” Solas searched for one of his many options. He truly wished that he could tell her everything, to let someone like her from the mortal world in on his secret.

_Mortal._

Again, he remembered why he could not. “ _In another world…”_

Evelyn must have taken his silence as the end of their discussion, that he had nothing more to say after denouncing their shared moment in the fade. She muttered something about it never having to happen again and left out the door she came through. He expected relief, but the warmth that rushed out of him suddenly at the end of their unfinished conversation was nothing of the sort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As a little preview, we'll be using that E rating next chapter. Thanks for all the comments and kudos you have left for me so far, it really means a lot!


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait! Life is always busier than expected.   
> WARNING: This chapter earns the story's Explicit rating and is NSFW!  
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Dragon Age nor its characters.

In the darkness of her room in the middle of the night, Evelyn sighed.

Warm hands deprived of gloves trailed over her chest, cupping her breasts lightly before squeezing. Lips pressed a kiss at the sensitive spot behind her ear before doing the same lower down her neck. When they reached the juncture of her neck and collarbone, his kisses were replaced with a light nip. Evelyn breathed out a short yelp, the action somewhere in the balance of pleasure and pain. Suckling on the newly-forming mark, he eased her pain as his fingers tweaked at her hardening nipples.

On a mission, his mouth never gave up his assault as he moved down her body. His tongue darted out to trace the pebbled nipple, followed by another suck as his lips closed around it. The attention on her chest drew out more sighs, each wordless response from her driving his actions. Each press of his lips as they continued down her body made her shiver, anticipation and desperation for more of his touch bringing her closer to madness. She needed this, or so she thought, as hands spread her legs and hot breath tickled at her core. The pad of an index finger came to rub at her slit, opening her slightly to feel her hot and wet. Her mouth opened and a gasp came out as his finger ever so slightly pressed against her clit, soon replaced with the same tongue that had been teasing her body just moments ago. Her fingers clutched at the pillow under her head, grounding herself into the mouth and fingers that pressed into her further.

Sounds of her desperate sighs and pants filled the room, drowning out the silence of the night. His mouth on hers was relentless, as if he was just as desperate for this as she was. When he pressed a lone finger inside of her as his mouth sucked on her clit, Evelyn moaned, a throaty sound that stirred his own muffled, vocal response.

Evelyn reached down to grasp at curly locks, but her fingers met no hair. When she felt pointed ears, she opened her eyes in surprised and looked at the head between her legs, only to be met with ice blue eyes hungrily staring back at her.

With a wordless shout, Evelyn awoke from her dream in her bed, a thin sheen of sweat covering her temples. Still shrouded by the dark of night, Evelyn clutched at her sheets and combed her fingers through her unruly hair. The initial shock of dreaming about him, about _Solas_ for Andraste’s sake, was starting to waver.

 _Yes_ , she would admit that she admired Solas.

 _Yes,_ these thoughts come with attraction.

 _No,_ it was no longer appropriate to think that way because he rejected her.

In truth, she expected her dreams to be of Cullen. Her—dashing, as Dorian called him— Commander was wandering into her daily thoughts more and more as she tried to remove the thoughts of the elven apostate. His words that day had hurt her and sent her running from the room in order to stay composed. If keeping up appearances as the Inquisitor meant rushing to her quarters to recover through the feelings of embarrassment and anger, then so be it.

In the past week, Evelyn only had one tense conversation with Solas, an exchange that left her anxious for their next trip. “My-ah- trainer has requested that you monitor my skills. In Fade manipulation.”

He was standing at his desk, hunched over a report of the rift activity logged by scouts sent to the Western Approach. “She has approached me already on the matter and I have agreed.”

Solas did not look up from his reading to look at her. Evelyn took a deep breath, keeping herself steady. “Then I can count on you to join us in our expedition to the Western Approach?”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” It was a quick glance, but she still caught it. His steel blue eyes so intensely glaring at her, piercing something deep within her.

Another bolt of panic shot through her when she remembered Solas and the Fade. He had manipulated her in the Fade before, and now there was a chance that he could have witnessed that as well. She whimpered as she shifted in her bed, the movement of her legs calling attention to the ache of her arousal left from her dreams. Her fingers would have itched too soothe it if the implication of her situation was not so frightening. She sighed and sat up in the bed, greeting a stressful day earlier than intended.

This morning, before she could head off to the Western Approach, she had to determine the fate of Mayor Dedrick.

\---

There was always a different air about Skyhold when the Inquisitor was about take her seat in the hall in front of a prisoner. No one in the castle was naïve to the fact that they were at the epicenter of a dangerous war, but it was these moments that brought reality back to many of the Inquisition’s guests. The bothersome gossip that entertained many of these visitors had started to strike a nerve on the Commander, and he ensured that he had been spending the least possible amount of time near them. “She’s too dull looking” an Orlesian woman had said one day. “I would have never have let a mage have all this power” said a sister in the gardens. Cullen nearly throttled a fellow Ferelden man who hoped they would send her back to the Circle once all this was over.

“Over” was the word that stopped him. Cullen had spent so much time focusing on escaping gruesome deaths that he never spared a thought for if they were to actually survive. One thing he could assume would be a drastically different life for those mages that inhabited the halls of Skyhold, especially for their Inquisitor. He had yet to even entertain the idea that he could be a part of that life.

Josephine caught his eye from the door of Evelyn’s chambers, a silent command for him to come to her. Cullen had to make himself public in these moments, something he was still becoming used to in the fortress. The Ambassador assured him that he was a natural and already had practice from his previous position, but Cullen was quick to remind her  how little recognition he deserved from that.

A door opened and the room grew silent, all eyes focused on the figure that emerged in front of the crowd. He grasped the pommel of his sword and remembered to expel the breath he had been holding. A lull spread over the room as Evelyn made her entrance, dozens of eyes fixed solely on her. Cullen could feel the rest of the room suddenly see her as he did every day, a beautiful woman dressed in cream and gold fabrics meant to be respected and revered.

Another deep breath and Cullen gained the strength to tear his eyes away from Evelyn. These were the moments she dreaded, as she said to him in the privacy of his office, the times where she had to pretend. “We chose the right person to lead us,” he reassured her as she fidgeted with one of the pawns. Soft candlelight made her skin glow, her hair mimicking the brilliant color of the flame. She sighed, the worry leaving her face, but her shoulders remained tense.

Cullen caught sight of Evelyn’s team sneaking in from the rotunda, most likely having just come from the stables. When they brought Mayor Dedrick to Skyhold in chains, Evelyn insisted on pushing back their departure for the Western Approach, citing her inability to focus on fighting if their prisoner still awaited judgement. Therefore Garret Hawke and Jean-Marc Stroud left early in the morning on their own, acting as scouts. Sera and Blackwall waited near the door they just entered, no doubt excited to watch. Sera’s cheers, and destructive actions, of joy could be heard throughout Skyhold last night, another victory for Red Jenny and the little guys. Blackwall next to her was less affected than the sprightly elf at his side. Other members of Evelyn’s inner circle could be seen throughout the crowd: Vivienne liked to entertain personal guests and show off the Inquisitor’s power from her claimed balcony, while Cassandra ensured she was always close to the front. The Iron Bull stood tall in the back of the hall, no doubt that he would be detailing the events of this morning in his Ben Hassarath report. Cole would be somewhere hidden in the crowd, and Varric always managed to find a spot with a good view. In his last scan of the room, Cullen saw Solas walk through the door to the rotunda and lean against it.

The large doors opened, signaling for any stragglers in the middle of the room to move to the side. Josephine began to speak, detailing Mayor Dedrick’s crimes as the jingling of his irons grew louder. Two of his soldiers guided the poor man in, one of them ready with a sword if it was determined he would be sentenced to death. Evelyn would never. She already struggled with killing on the field, there was never an instance where she could kill a defenseless prisoner.

Or she could, and she had yet to cross that threshold.

Mayor Dedrick’s testimony left a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, a queasy ache that made him feel sick. To think that at the same time, a decade ago, he and this prisoner made the same decision—a decision to harm scores of people in the hope of protecting others. What would have happened that night in Kinloch Hold had the Hero of Ferelden supported his decision made in fear and of no sound mind? The man he once was, the man he was still atoning for, also deserved to be hunched before the Inquisitor now, the weight of the chains tugging on his wrists. He was still not sure that the man he was today deserved a different fate.

Murmurs around the hall brought him back from painful memories, and Cullen was listening to the end of the Inquisitor’s decision to give the former mayor to King Alistair. As Dedrick was pulled away, the crowd began to dissipate. Before he could blink, Evelyn had disappeared back into her chambers.

\---

The trip from Skyhold to the Western Approach was by far the worst experience Solas had so far with the Inquisition, and he spent two days watching over a semi-unconscious woman in a damp, cold cell. Blackwall and Sera chatted incessantly, evidently having become friends since the Inquisitor recruited them before she was given her title. The only worse fate than listening to their crude and loud humor would be if Evelyn partook in such foolish pursuits, which she had recently been doing. Sera was beginning to influence the Inquisitor, a poor choice of friend for a woman with poise and grace. Neither was Blackwall a smart choice in a companion, but for what exactly, he was unsure. His spy that frequently assisted Master Dennet had yet to discover any troublesome information as to why the Grey Warden was behaving so strangely as of late. Perhaps he too was suffering from the Calling as others in Orlais were.

Evelyn was his saving grace every time she chastised the crass pair, bringing them back into focus on the journey ahead. Other than those moments, Evelyn did not say a word, a rarity that was likely due to his presence on the trip. Whenever they stopped to make camp for the night, Evelyn immediately pulled out her tome to read, only pausing to accept food and to sleep.

Solas wasn’t dense, far from it. His only purpose on this excursion was to fulfill her trainer’s desires, and that may not even occur. An air of tense electricity now passed between them whenever they were together, and Solas accepted all blame. Words he couldn’t determine how to say still lingered on his tongue as she left, and now a dark stormed churned above them, plaguing their relationship.

Could he be friends with her? The most plausible answer to that question would be no. Even if they could platonically resolve the tension between them, Solas had come to understood that nothing would change how he saw her. Nothing could erase the burning image she left in his mind last night.

For his own sanity and her privacy, Solas would not monitor her dreams on this trip, nor any night unless he deemed it necessary for her own health. After the fallout from their difficult, unfinished conversation, Solas no longer had a way of checking her emotional state other than to explore her thoughts through the Fade. Last night’s view was a bit more than he could handle for the night, the sight of her naked and mewling at his own ministrations. He almost thought that he was manipulating her own dream, as the one she conjured was not far from his own fantasies of her: open and pliable while he worked his mouth down her body. He awoke from her dream half-hard and desperate for her touch, having to make do with his own. It was sick, really, that he imagined himself taking over in that moment without her even knowing. His hand tugged at his length, each stroke bringing him closer to his climax and pushing off his guilt. Guilt of what, he wasn’t exactly sure. Wanting to take advantage of her at night and driving her mad, having her believe that a desire demon was attempting to possess her? Or was it for how her sensual dream awoke the vulgar thoughts he kept so tightly at bay?

Letting out a strangled cry, Solas came to the image of her dream, her toned body writhing in her bed sheets as he lapped and sucked at her wet cunt. _“Just this one time,”_ he resolved as he cleaned himself off with a discarded shirt. “ _Never again._ ” And yet there was still a nagging voice at the back of his wondering if she was touching herself for the same relief.

Resolving to not speak to her unless absolutely necessary, Solas remained almost silent all the way to the Orlesian desert. It wasn’t difficult, as Evelyn was never far removed from that book she studied from. As he stole glances of her reading by the fire, the light of the flames cascading over her body, Solas wondered if she had always been like this. He had gathered snippets from overheard conversations with Dorian about the studying she did as a child of noble birth. The plans for her mage tower included ample shelves for books and reading spaces.

“I think I should start practicing now, shouldn’t I?” She had asked as they stared down the rift threatening the Inquisition’s camp. Scout Harding had requested they deal with the demons there before heading to Hawke’s rendezvous point.

“Have you not yet used the skills your trainer has been teaching you?”

Evelyn studied her hand, the green in its grow cracking and buzzing. “Well…No. There was the one time…but I don’t know what I did.”

“Focus your energy and call the power from the Fade, just as you would whenever you close a rift.” Hesitantly, Solas grasped her left wrist with his fingers and felt a racing pulse underneath soft skin. Was she nervous? Was it his touch?

Did she know he spied on her whilst she slept?

With her knowledge and his skill, Evelyn learned how to focus and reverse rifts, protecting them from unwanted fighting. As they walked across the plains of tan sand, Evelyn recalled how Corypheus attempted to take her Anchor away from her and failed, only somehow making her stronger. She told him about her struggle to make her way through the snowy cavern under Haven to find safety, and how she managed to call her own rift.

“The Veil must have been thin there,” he pondered. “Even if you were the most powerful mage in existence, tearing open the Veil at full strength would be impossible.”

“Even for you?”

A combination of a scoff and a laugh escaped his lips, a response to his own personal failure. Not even he was strong enough, even with the orb, to do such a thing. Not yet. “Yes, even for me.”

The ruins Hawke had described them to meet at were simply that: ruins. Possibly they were the remains of the watchtower for the area, one of the first defenses for Adamant Fortress that supposedly laid beyond. There they found Lord Livius Erimond, a wiry, pathetic man with multiple Grey Warden bodies and the demons that replaced them. Each of them easily became livid with the situation fast for their own personal reasons, be it the use of blood magic, the manipulation of fellow Wardens, or the mental kidnapping of another human being. “Release the Wardens from the binding and surrender,” Evelyn snarled at the Tevinter magister. Green crackled from her left hand, glowing against her hip. “I won’t ask twice.”

Erimond’s face twisted in anger and disgust. “No, you won’t.” Reaching out his right hand, the magister brought Evelyn to her knees, the mark’s light pulsing and twisting around her palm. She choked down a sob. “The Elder One showed me how to deal with you, in the event you were foolish enough to interfere again.” Erimond’s conceited voice grated on Solas’ eardrums. “That mark you bear? The Anchor that lets you pass safely through the Veil? You stole that from my master. He’s been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade.”

Just as Solas thought he would need to help her, to soothe the pulsing energy as he had did when the mark first stuck to her, Evelyn stood. Solas could feel the buzz of the Veil being manipulated around him, the air becoming heavy and tense with energy.

“When I bring him your head, his gratitude would be—" A shriek and his pitiful speech was cut short with a brilliant explosion of green, a flash that almost knocked Stroud of his feel and certainly knocked Erimond off of his. Satisfying as it was to watch the smug grin be swept off his face as he staggered away, Evelyn was still clutching painfully at her wrist.

“Everyone get back!” She shouted at the party. With an armored arm out, Blackwall forced Sera to back up against the stone walls of the dilapidated tower. Hawke and Stroud stumbled away in confusion and fear, their only demonstration of her power being moments ago. Solas remained close, using his own energy to balance out what was about to occur.

Another blast of emerald burst from her hand as she screamed, the demons and controlled Wardens disappearing in the fray. Surging forward, Solas clasped his hands around her unconscious body before she hit the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for reading. I always love reading and responding to your comments!


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I am SO sorry for such a delay in this chapter. It felt like the days were just going by quicker than I could handle them. Unfortunately, it's hard to write for pleasure when I stare at computers for work all day. I am very tired of looking at Word documents as of late, but I promise I'll push through my upcoming vacation time to write! 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Same as before, do I really need to keep writing this? I own nothing.

It was true, Solas had brought her out of the Fade himself. Evelyn just couldn’t remember it.

Solas could never forget, though. He found her outside of the keep staring into the sandy abyss laid out before her, the deep expanse of the hot Orlesian desert. The lithe fingers of her right hand, a deeper shade of tan now thanks to the heat of the sun, twisted at her auburn hair.

“I used to keep it shorter,” she said to him, still facing away towards the dunes. Her voice carried to him with the hot breeze. Although close behind her, Solas had believed that he was silent enough for her not to notice just yet. “It’s getting long now, long enough to braid again.” Her left hand reached up to join her right to turn the absentminded twisting into productive braid twirling. “My Nanna used to do this to me every night before bed. She taught me how to do my own when I was older and my hair grew longer. It was a ritual I had begun to grow used to.”

“When did you cut it short then?” He asked, breaking his silence.

Her fingers paused, a short moment when they twitched against the tarnished brown locks. She continued braiding the strands as she began to speak again. “I did it when I was in the Circle. When I was an apprentice, no one really bothered me. I kept my hair braided tightly against my head, so much that they thought I was giving myself a headache. As I got older, my hair grew longer, my braids grew looser. And then one day a Templar pulled me by the hair to my punishment.”

Solas’s deep breath betrayed his calm demeanor. Finally looking back at him, Evelyn gave him an indifferent look, the pupils covering most of the brown of her eyes. She finished forming the braid and tucked the strand behind her ear. “That was the first day I was beaten.”

The declaration must have held emotional weight at one time, but Evelyn stated it as simply a matter-of-fact. She sounded as if she had taken up to acting like the Tranquil that roamed Skyhold’s halls, devoid of their true being thanks to the cruelty of the Templars. “I cut it short for the rest of my time in the Circle and didn’t let it grow back until I left.”

The wind whirled around them, picking up grains of sand and carrying them away. Other than the sounds of it swirling around them, silence permeated the space between them. When Solas finally spoke, he noticed he could not stop the slight quiver in his words. “You are beautiful, no matter how you styled the hairs upon your head.”   

“Thank you,” she said, facing away from him again. Her voice gave no indication that there was a smile behind her words.

Solas took another step towards her, his feet gliding on the sand. “If I may ask,” he started to say, pausing to see if she would turn around again to look at him. When she didn’t, he continued with his query.  “Why do you spend your time with a former Templar when others have treated you so poorly in the past?”

Evelyn’s arms remained poised before her. They were not crossed as they usually were, but held daintily like an Orlesian noble addressing her court. “Not all Templars are alike. For every three Templars that harmed me, one healed me. For every five that wronged me, one tried to make it right.” She turned to fully face him now, her face filled with an emotion he could not read. Sadness? Uncertainty? Disdain? “There were some good Templars. There may still be good Templars, but the Templar Order is not good. Cullen recognized that somehow. Something happened that he had to atone for.” Her face softened into a neutral expression, one he assumed she had been wearing the entire conversation. “I don’t know what, but it changed him in some way.”

All he had wanted to do in that moment was to take hold of her, grasp her in his arms and warn her of a man that could hurt her. Yet, in the present, Solas was the only one that had proven this true.

Sending her running away from his hesitancy harmed them both. Until now, the elf had no idea how much he craved her conversation. He _yearned_ to return to late nights of introspection and discussion over a cup of bitter tea. There were times when she would fall asleep curled up on his chair, exhausted after planning with him until the late hours of the night. Her emerald-sparkled hand would come up to cover a yawn—the tiniest opening of her mouth with a light, breathy sound. And every time when her eyelids began to droop, he would ask her if she wanted to him to escort her to her chambers. “I can work a little while longer,” was always her reply. After the third night of this habit, Solas had learned to prepare her blanket for her.

That was the first night in Skyhold Solas had purposely sought out a spirit in the Fade. Before, he had spent his dreams wandering the old halls and collecting the stories of those who inhabited the stronghold since he left. This time he sought a friend, Wisdom, a spirit that he relied upon during his most troubled times. Their symbiotic relationship developed every time he required Wisdom’s advice, every word he spoke gave it new knowledge of the living world beyond the Veil. “What troubles you, child?” Wisdom asked while assuming the visage of an elderly woman. The spirit joined him right there in the rotunda, Solas having fallen asleep on his chaise shortly after the Inquisitor had drifted into a deep sleep. A small part of him had been hoping she would be there with him the Fade so that he could show her a glimpse of what he could help her achieve. Instead, Wisdom had found him there. “Is it her?”

“You ask, yet you already know the answer,” he finally responded. Wisdom looked at him with curious eyes. Always eager to hear from him, Wisdom moved to sit with him on the chaise.

“You cannot stop the inevitable, not without destroying yourself.”

“I know.”

 The flicker of a grin appeared on the spirit’s formed face. “If that is your response, then why do you seek me?”

Solas let out a sound between a scoff and a laugh. “I suppose I just needed to hear it for myself.”

“What shall you do then?”

He turned to look at his friend beside him. “I believe I should be asking you that.”

Standing now, the spirit moved to the spot of where Evelyn slept in his world, now visible in the same way with them in the Fade. Bathed in green from the light of her own anchor, Solas could see the even rise and fall of her chest. The action was oddly soothing for him. Perhaps, he thought, that the comfort he found in the Fade was lessening his ill thoughts of his situation.

“You have already earned her trust, yet there are many more do not feel the same way. If you were to lose her’s…”

“I would be even further from my goal.” The Inquisition was the most direct, and only, path to Corypheus and reobtaining his orb, and yet Cassandra was still only one order away from locking him in a cell. “I must see this through.”

“Why her?” the penetrating voice of Wisdom asked. The spirit knew of his distaste for all those who inhabited the world in which he awoke. “She is not of your people.”

Evelyn remained steady in her slumber, the newly forming stress wrinkles disappearing and making her look softer. _Younger,_ as if she was not already young enough for him. “She is…different.”

“Is she not like everyone else in this world?”

Before him flashed the memories of his time with the Inquisition—the Chantry’s infighting, the destruction in the wake of the war between the Mage and Templars, the blood rituals binding demons to Grey Wardens.

No. She was not like the others.

And there she stood before him in the sandy abyss, her robes rippling across her back in the breeze. “I like this dream. It’s better than the one’s I usually have.” The distance between them began to shrink, and Solas almost believed that _she_ was the one moving until he was mere inches from her. Without hearing himself speak, Solas must have said something to the effect of “go on,” as Evelyn continued. “Almost every night I close my eyes, I can see _him,_ the dark shadows, the red lyrium, the demons.” With a gasp that stole the wind from them both, Evelyn stiffened suddenly. Solas only closed the distance so that he could hear what she had said, her voice barely above a whisper.

_The demon army will march across Orlais._

Corypheus’ future, he realized. Evelyn and Dorian had recounted every grim detail of their perilous journey into the what-could-have-been when they left Redcliffe Castle. If their short disappearance in the hall had not been enough proof already, then Erimond’s display had sealed it for them. Her ‘incident’ that had knocked her unconscious certainly did not mean the end for such an army.

When she finally turned to face him fully, every bit of her shook with energy and anxiety. “Solas, I need to wake up. I need to write—We need to-”

Gathering her in his arms, a slender hand came to stroke at her hair. “Hush, _da’len_. We have already sent word. We will return to Skyhold once you are ready to make preparations.”

Slowly she softened in his arms and buried her head in the crook of his neck. Even in the Fade he could smell her favorite scent since they settled in Skyhold, the comforting cloak of Lavender and Spindleweed he had come to know well to track her presence. Solas fought the urge to inhale deeply. “I don’t think I will ever be prepared to go to war.”

“I don’t think anyone truly is.”

As if there was still any semblance of space between their two bodies, Evelyn pressed herself closer to him. As if she could melt into him if she just moved herself close enough. “Solas, will you be there when I wake? Not like last time?”

If she could feel his body tense for that split second, she made no notion of it. This was becoming as intimate as their last known meeting in the Fade. “I am right beside you.”

“Good.” Evelyn’s breathing steadied, the deep inhale and exhale reminding him again of how he watched over her while she slept in his rotunda. The hand cradling her head trailed down to rub at her back in soothing motions to calm her. “Solas?” she asked in a small voice. “Could we stay here just a bit longer?”

“Yes. I suppose we could stay here a little while longer.”

\---

It wasn’t the normal headache Cullen always felt whenever he came into contact with Garret Hawke. The now-Commander remembered having spent a few nights in the Gallows rubbing at the dull twinge in his Temples, or nursing an ale at the Hanged Man so long as the man’s ragtag group of misfits weren’t playing a rousing round of cards. Or rousing anyone else by being the epitome of noise. Yet a simple letter from the pain-in-the-neck was not the cause of his current pain. A passing thought for why Hawke was writing him a report and not the Inquisitor was washed away with a gulp of water from his cup-- _why was he so thirsty right_ now? In the scribbled penmanship reflective of his farm-life upbringing rather than his Hightown mansion, Hawke wrote:

                _Cullen,_

_Stroud and I met the Inquisitor and her team to where we tracked the Venatori agent to in the Western Approach, and what we found wasn’t pretty. Livius Erimond, the man calls himself, and he’s been practicing our favorite hobby with the Grey Wardens. Although I am still unsure if they have been forced into it by Corypheus or they chose to do this of their own volition in fear of the mass Calling, I am definitely sure of the blood magic demon rituals._

“Maker’s Breath,” he said before he took another drink from the mug, wishing it was something much stronger.

_Erimond managed to escape, but Stroud is convinced that he has headed to Adamant Fortress. It’s likely that all the Grey Wardens in Orlais have fallen back to the stronghold. Stroud and I will go there for reconnaissance and we’ll keep you updated whenever we can. There’s some hope in this already, at least. Before we broke from the Inquisitor’s crew the five of us managed to set up a foothold in the desert._

“Five… Five…” Cullen repeated the number like an incantation. “What do you mean five? You, Stroud, Evelyn, Blackwall, Solas, Sera…That’s six.” He spoke to the parchment as if it was writing down his responses to send back. Cullen pressed his gloved palm into his forehead in an effort to stop the headache from worsening.

_Griffon Wing Keep was being guarded by Venatori agents—possibly those Erimond left behind to guard it. Not very well, I must say. If I were you, I’d send some of your soldiers and supplies to this nice sandy sanctuary as soon as possible. It would make our inevitable attack on Adamant a great deal easier._

He had to give it to Hawke, landing a keep so close to Adamant Fortress was exactly what they would need. Mentally reviewing rosters, Cullen drafted up a note for the next runner to bring to Rylen. As Knight-Captain, Rylen was a competent leader and overall person. Cullen could not have had a better choice for his Second-in-Command in the Inquisition’s forces, and was almost sorry to have to send him off.  The man had a level head on his shoulders and could keep everyone at the keep alert and prepared for the imminent war.

 _War_. Their last fight, their retreat from Haven, it had been his fault. Not enough soldiers on post, not enough training, not enough resources. If Adamant called for their next battle, this time would be different.

_Your Inquisitor is a very impressive woman, especially that green firecracker murder display she put on for us. Don’t worry, I was assured that she is in good hands with Solas. When she awakes, I believe she will send you her own report from the keep, and I will send word from Adamant in a few days’ time._

_Regretfully Yours,_

  1. _Hawke_



Cullen read the last two sentences of the letter over and over again. Then one more time just to stop his mind from going blank and to stop the sharp, stabbing pain beneath his eyelids. “Damn it, Hawke, why couldn’t you just tell me what the hell actually happened?” In a rage, Cullen spat out about half a dozen crass words as he clutched the letter with gloved hands. Any more pressure and he might have torn the parchment in two.

A sharp knock on his door brought him back from the precipice of his wrath. The Commander snapped his head towards the door so that he could bid the visitor in, if his vision hadn’t gone hazy at that moment. His gloved hand clutched at the desk, holding himself upward through the tilt of the room—since when was his office on a diagonal slant? Another rap at the door set him straight, and a terse “Enter” escaped through clenched teeth.

“Reports from Sister Leliana, Commander,” the runner stated when he walked in the room. He began to place the stack of papers onto Cullen’s desk when he stopped. “Are you alright?”

“What?” he asked, wiping the glove across his heated forehead. Was he sweating? “I’m fine. Give this to Knight-Captain Rylen.” He shuffled through the letters on his desk to find the one piece of correspondence he had just written. “Please,” he added at the end when he handed it over.

“Yes, sir.” The solder saluted him and turned to exit through the door he came in. At his departure, Cullen released the hand he had on his desk and collapsed to the floor in a heap of fur and metal.

Heat rolled in waves now around him, his armor becoming too much to bear. He tugged one glove off and almost rid himself of his gauntlet before abandoning the task in vain. It was much more important that he rubbed his temples furiously in an attempt to rid himself of the constant throbbing in his head. Bells of alarm were ringing in his mind, making their way through the clouds. This was not an unprompted illness.

This was the next stage of the lyrium withdrawal that he had to endure. The headaches were manageable before this—just slight twinges that he could push back through training exercises or relaxation. The headache now was far worse, and could only mean one thing.

Cullen and Cassandra had poured into research when he decided to quit taking lyrium, only because Cassandra had talked him into it. With Cassandra’s unwavering resiliency, one would always have to do whatever she set her mind to unless you could prove her wrong. “Without knowing what to expect, you could fail or die,” she had warned. Yet gathering books were not a guarantee for him to survive the entire ordeal. Increased pain, extreme heat, reoccurring nightmares, dizziness, nausea, vomiting—all were signs of a higher form of withdrawal after the body’s first release from the potions. His system would begin to fall into shock at the lack of the substance, causing episodes that could last hours or days. There were only three ways to end these periods of torture, two of which were unfavorable, and one of which only led to more pain. He could ride it out with the help of rest and medicine, take the lyrium to end the pain but start the cycle again, or die.

Maybe he would fall victim to the third option, lying on the wooden floor behind his desk with his armor constricting him. Maybe it was time for him to stop wearing his full armor constantly in an effort to remain professional. Maybe he needed to find that source of the wonderful song that was the only pleasure he could find in that moment.

He had received the package almost immediately after moving into his office at Skyhold. Mother Giselle, with all of her connections, had managed to secure supplies of lyrium from a supporter, one that was aware that a group of the Templars had fractured from the order in good judgement. Cases of lyrium kits were provided to those under Cullen’s command, with a special box reserved for him. Cullen couldn’t refuse the gift, having been placed on his desk during a meeting in the war room. At first, he had assumed the decorative box with the visage of  it was some holy symbol of worship given to him. Knowing full well that it was the sole substance he was attempting to avoid at all costs, he still kept it in the top left drawer of his desk.

The sweet song was calling to him from that spot now, already soothing him into a light slumber. His urges could just be subdued by being near it, he thought. His eyes grew heavy, the heat acting as a warm blanket covering him. He would talk to Cassandra about his concerns after a short nap, surely. Or maybe, a long nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient with me, and as always, thank you for reading! I've loved receiving your kudos and reading your comments! You know I appreciate it!


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been so long, I am so sorry. It's not easy writing for pleasure when you write so much for work and school. Combine with becoming sick, holidays, and unexpected stressful events, it has been difficult to keep up with the chapters. Thank you for hanging in there with me!  
> DISCLAIMER: I do not claim to own Dragon Age nor any of its characters.

He awoke on his floor with his face deep in a puddle of his own drool. _Oh yes,_ Cullen thought, _must still be alive._

Even after collapsing from weakness and exhaustion, Cullen still suffered from the same nightmares. The grey stone of the Tower wall, the invisible cage he thrashed in, how tempting it was to finally give in to the demons. Every night the same visions, same pain.

Cullen wiped his brow against the back of his hand, sweat cooling against his skin. Hunger, not nausea, gnawed at his growling stomach underneath his full set of armor. The former Templar could not remember the last time he skilled his nightly routine of caring for each and every piece. From the small opening of the window that sat behind his desk, a dim glow of the morning sun illuminated his office. The muted orange and pink gave him a sign that it was only just sunrise, perhaps why none of his soldiers barged in to trip over his limp body. His mouth represented a desert, dry and yearning for a sip of water. Aching muscles bunched under the cold steel as he pulled himself up, using his desk as leverage. The throbbing headache from before was now but a mild nuisance sitting where the base of his skull met the back of his neck, nothing different from the same pain he felt daily.

_Survival._

Through sheer luck, Cullen had made it to the morning. The unsettling realization sunk in, the thought that this might be the only time he would come out of a spell in one piece. There was no telling when the next attack could occur, or where. Very quickly, Cullen was falling from a decently competent commander to a poor excuse for a soldier.

Cassandra would know what to do. His colleague and—dare he say it—closest friend in this Inquisition had known about his decision to stop taking lyrium from the moment the idea birthed in his mind. She had promised to help him in every way possible, including passing on his command when he became unfit for the position.

Food could wait; the conversation he needed to have with the Seeker was of the utmost importance.

Cullen’s heavy door swung open and banged against the castle wall with a great thump, only for the complete opposite of Cassandra to walk in. “Fancy an early morning game? My, don’t you look ten shades of awful today?”

Not even bothering to stifle a groan, Cullen rubbed at his temples to calm himself. “Thank you.”

Leather boots squeaked and metal clinked as his guest sauntered into the room. “I brought you breakfast. Got it from a runner that was on his way and I graciously offered to do the rest of his job for him.” The mage dropped a tray down on top of the scattered missives and reports. The meal was simple, a cup of something, a small assortment of fruit and cheese, and two breadrolls. Well, one after it was scooped up by the mage.

“Any chance you’ve seen Cassandra?” Cullen picked up the cup and almost sighed in relief at the clear liquid inside.

After swallowing, Dorian rubbed a thumb at his moustache in order to swipe away any stray crumbs. “Yes, just now actually. She and Varric just left for their meetings in Val Royeaux.”

Nearly choking on his water, Cullen sputtered. “They left?”

“You didn’t know that? Maybe I’m the one who should be in those war meetings.”

Cullen glared at the man, knowing that he couldn’t hurt the messenger. With no Cassandra, who could he turn to for this? Telling Dorian would mean the whole fortress would be aware of his personal issue before midday. Josephine might be sent into a panic and ensure bedrest. Leliana was more of a judgmental sort rather than a help, but she excelled at keeping secrets and procuring assistance. Like potions from Dagna-

Dagna would be able to help him. Wild excitement filled her eyes, but she has already ensured to keep Skyhold safe. Maybe she would keep a secret.

With a helpful threat from Leliana.

Keeping this information from the Inquisitor could prove to be reckless, but until Evelyn had stepped into her new position, it had been a non-issue. Hopefully it would not have to go much further than that for now.

\---

She rested for three more days, though she spent as little as she could asleep.

A handful of Leliana’s scouts in the area had passed through the keep, each leaving as the Inquisitor gave them her orders. Although her bones still ached from the weight of the Fade expanding from her, she refused to let herself show it. Behind her back she had propped up a pillow so that, even if she was resigned to bedrest, no members of the Inquisition would have to see her weak. While it mimicked something wise the ever-present Mother Giselle said, she was only doing such to follow the advice of her advisors.

“ _Be strong, and so will they.”_

Her first order of business when her eyes came back into focus was to write to those very people. Each letter contained the same report of their confrontation with the magister, as well as individualized messages related to each advisor’s area of expertise. To Josephine, it was an appeal to gather all their available resources; to Leliana, a plea for her to gather every piece of information available on their mysterious magister; to Cullen, a call to arms.

With each command given to a scout and with every letter she scripted, Evelyn had no idea how easily she was falling into the role of the leader she was chosen to be.

Her team was with her very little, Blackwall and Sera taken to making the keep as operational as possible before the Inquisition can fully stock the fortress with solders. The pair cleared up varmints and spiders from every nook and cranny, breaking plenty of items of furniture during the process. Only some were accidental, Sera confessed, when Evelyn had asked about the noise. They secured a source of water and cleared Grey Warden ruins of squatters in order to secure the secrets they might have held about Adamant Fortress.

 _Adamant_.

Evelyn knew very little about the fortress itself, and hoped that her many allies connected to the Grey Wardens would be able to fill in the gaps of her knowledge for her. She had skimmed over the name quite a few times in her studies, though in truth, she herself was weary of the idea of the organization. Perhaps it was related to her distrust of organized armies believing that force was necessary to bring control and peace to the world—too close to the idea of the Templars. Yet the Grey Wardens were nothing like those men and women she saw every day in her Circle tower. They were needed in the world, the only barrier between the Blight and the destruction of Thedas. These fighters trained their whole lives to die as heroes.

 _Hero_ used to be a word she romanticized in her youth, an ideal notion that appeared in fleeting fantasies. Now that she was being called one, she did not like the idea as much.

No, she wasn’t a hero yet. Evelyn recalled her first true conversation with Solas. “ _Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”_ As for Solas, the elf spent a good deal of time by her side. At first, it was to help stabilize her anchor, the push of his magic countering the pull of her mark. She had learned that this was the same technique he had employed in the dungeons of Haven. Solas asked her about every sensation she felt during the experience—the building up of the charge, the release, her collapse, the residual ache she felt now.

“It wasn’t exactly painful, not like it had been before we stabilized the Breach.”

“Then tell me what it was.”

A pink tongue darted out to wet her dry lips before her lips parted ever so slightly to take in her next breath. “Power.” A flicker of emotion appeared on the elf’s face, then disappeared as soon as it came. Evelyn could have sworn he looked pleased.

On the second day, he mentioned that he spent his entire night exploring the Griffon Wing Keep in the Fade. She latched onto the simple remark, begging for him to explain further. Unable to deny her excited request, Solas recounted his stories, stories of the Grey Wardens that built and inhabited the keep until, one by one, they abandoned the holding to retreat back to their solid fortress.

When the sun was highest in the sky, Solas no longer had to use his magic to calm the anchor in her left palm.

The afternoon was occupied by her joining him in the dreamscape of Griffon Wing Keep. It was a decision Solas made to begin his training with her and keep her from rotting away in pure boredom. “It is much easier to shape the Fade in the waking world if you can do so here.”

Evelyn is sure that he could tell how enraptured she was in her surroundings, taking every minute detail in and not treating it in the same passive way she did when he brought her to Haven. “Everything still looks so real, not like a dream at all.” Together they stood in the lower courtyard in between the unused market stalls and the well at the center of the stones. With every step she could feel the hard surface below her feet, hear the distinct clicking of her boots. “I know I’m dreaming this time, but how will I know if you’re not around to tell me?”

Solas did not answer her immediately, but the silence between them did not weigh heavy on her. In fact, nothing weighed heavy on her—the sun did not bleat on her exposed skin quite as hard, sweat barely beaded at her temples, and the strong notion that she needed to save Thedas all but vanished from her thoughts.

She is beginning to see why he likes the place so much.

“The differences are subtle,” he finally answered. “Come, sit.” Solas pat the edge of the closed well and Evelyn complied, surprised when he does not follow suit. “That cart straight ahead of you, look at it.” Her eyes focused on the wooden structure, a simple wheel-bound surface that held two closed crates. Carefully her gaze trailed along the simple piece, studying every grain, every crevice until-

“The wheel.”

What once was lying down propped against the structure, detached and splintered, was now returned to its original spot. “Good. As long as you remain perceptive of your surroundings, you will know.”

She has never been the most patient student, always eager to move on to the next subject. Even from a young child, Evelyn considered knowledge gained to be a checklist, scratching off each point of information learned like Josephine does with the items at their war meeting agendas. It came to her as no surprise when she blurts out the question, “Can you tell me how you took me to Haven? Can you teach me how to reshape this place?”

Solas made a small noise when the corner of his lips turned upward, a short sound that falls somewhere in between a scoff and a chuckle. “No.”

“No?” she asked, excited curiosity quickly changing to confusion.

“Not until you stop thinking of the Fade as simply a ‘where’ rather than a ‘what.’” She watched as he paced around her, craning to hear for the sound of his own soft footfalls on the stone.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

With his hands gently clasped behind his back, the apostate turned teacher looked over his shoulder. “What have you been taught about the Fade itself?” Clear as the blue sky, Solas’ eyes observed her for her answer.

“It’s…” Evelyn’s chest raised with a deep breath, as if gathering more air into her lungs would give her more answers. “It’s a realm of spirits separated from the world by the Veil.” She paused, looking to Solas for his approval, but his expression remained unchanged. She continued, choosing her words carefully. “As a human I can enter the Fade in my dreams, as I mage I can do so more often of my own will. The Fade is made up of the ether, which could be manipulated-”

“Ah,” Solas interrupted, turning to face her fully now. “So it can be manipulated.”

Her fingers clenched into fists where they rested at her knees, arms tensing. “How?”

Softly yet decidedly, the elf made his way to stand directly in front of her. “Close your eyes,” he said, his words caressing her ears in comfort. Evelyn did not hesitate to follow his gentle command. “Now relax.” Immediately her first reaction is to fidget in her spot, to make sure that her legs were crossed the perfect way, that her shoulders were aligned correctly. She only stopped when two soft hands covered her own and coaxed them from their tightened position. Her fingers tingled, though whether it was his doing or her reaction to his touch, she could not tell. “Breathe and focus on what you feel.” The light puff of his own breath on her face led her to believe that he was now sitting down in front of her. Casting out the notion, Evelyn tried to do as he instructed.

 _Breathe._ Slowly she took the air into her lungs through her nose, the air feeling lighter than it did normally in the humid heat of the desert. The air escaped her gradually like it would in her slumber.

 _Focus._ What did she feel? She felt the stone digging into her thighs, the back of her hands grazing against her knee. She felt the stray strands of her hair brush against her face, the taught pull of her chest and back to sit upright.

The mark pulsed, a subtle ebb and flow that she sometimes felt after closing a rift. The movement mimicked the waves of the Storm Coast—not the ones crashing against the beach but the water further into the horizon that shifted back and forth. Evelyn clung to that feeling and poured in the belief that all of her answers about the Fade can be solved through it.

She is not entirely wrong.

As subtle as her mark was the energy that flowed around her. The delicate undercurrent surrounded her and brushed up against her skin before pulling away again. A startled puff escaped her lips at the feeling, shocking but not unpleasant.

“Do you feel it? The energy around you?” Evelyn nodded, afraid that speaking words would break her connection. “Feel the power that surrounds you. Draw your strength from it, and with that strength, change the world around you.”

Evelyn concentrated harder than she ever had on anything before, more than the first time she attempted to conjure a flame at the end of her staff as a young apprentice. Breathing in between clenched teeth, the mage felt the energy from her left hand working in tandem with her surroundings. She opened her eyes to a familiar sight.

“Ah. We’ve been here before.”

Solas was correct in his simple statement. A waterfall poured streams of clear liquid down the steep expanse of grey rock into a pool, surrounded by fauna-covered boulders, rich soil, and lush green grass. Two grand Halla statues carved from stone stood proudly framing the pool. “Its quite beautiful when there’s not a wyvern attempting to rip you to shreds.”

Solas strode over to stand in front of the pool, his head craned upward to view the tree at the top of the rock formation. “Is that why we are here?” Evelyn noticed that while his hands returned to catch together at his back, the grip eased slightly.

“I don’t know. Possibly.” The idea of it was becoming too overwhelming to take in. She was a _Dreamer_ , a mage that could manipulate the Fade while they roamed it in their slumber. It wasn’t unheard of, considering Senior Enchanter Breac from her own Circle Tower was rumored to be a Dreamer. There was a certain power behind it, but Evelyn could only revel in the discovery’s disconcerting nature. Had she always been a Dreamer, unaware of the abilities she held while being stifled by an order growing paranoid of mage descent? Or was it simply the anchor providing her this capability?

Lost in her thoughts, she did not notice his movements until he was in front of her, opening her left palm to him. In her marked hand, Solas placed a stone and closed her fingers around its smooth surface. “Tomorrow, we will begin to connect the fade to the physical word. I will show you how to bend the Veil to your will.”

Solas was true to his promise. While the small group of scouts prepared to welcome in the Inquisition’s troops, and to sweep away whichever precious items Sera had a knack to break, Solas continued Evelyn’s teachings in the highest courtyard. Bathed in sunlight and sweat, Evelyn worked to bring the pull of the Fade into the waking world surrounding her. _Why rocks?_ She desperately wanted to ask him by the time they stopped for a break in the middle of the day. It was only until she was able to focus on the theory behind the magic—that the stones she could bring into this world were really the corrupted matter of the Fade.

It almost felt wrong to Evelyn, as if they were dabbling in the same skills that Corypheus was in his quest to tear the Veil open.

And then she caught the attention of Solas’ cool blue eyes, and saw the corners of his lips tug upwards in a smile. There were no nightmares here, only safety. Evelyn had spent more time with Solas in the last three days than she had in the past month. She felt as if they were back to having a warm, comfortable companionship before her emotions clouded their relationship.

She just hoped that he didn’t feel her tremble when he guided her body through the movements, nor felt her heart beat like a raven’s wings upon taking to the sky.

By the time the air was beginning to cool and the sun started to fall behind the tall rock formations, Evelyn had managed to produce many a boulder from the Fade and move them how she had liked. She had never seen Solas smile so brightly when he started to praise her for the work she had done.

“Either I’m an excellent teacher or you’re a natural.”

For the first time in weeks, Evelyn laughed with her apostate companion and tried not to think about the last time they shared a moment like such. Then the doors to Griffon Wing Keep opened and Evelyn finally learned what it was like to wage a war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, as always. I truly appreciate all the support you guys give the writers on here. I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible!


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